


destroy the middle, it's a waste of time

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 20,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: A collection of Theon/Sansa drabbles.34: Theon waits for Sansa's return from King's Landing (Post-Canon AU)35: Theon and Sansa go on a ride. (Canonverse AU)36: Sansa asks Theon for help. (Canonverse AU)37: Sansa associates Theon with the beach. (Modern AU)





	1. Vanilla and Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don’t understand game of thrones and at this point I’m too afraid to ask so imma give you some basic prompts. 1) bed sharing and 2) fake dating you’re welcome"

Theon might be hallucinating, or he might be drunk, but he’s pretty sure he’s only had one beer.

“Do me a favor.” Sansa steps into his space, all soft skin and bright hair and it’s very loud in the bar and very cramped, but Theon can’t think when she’s standing  _right there_. “And don’t tell Robb.”

Again, he might be drunk, but he’s also confused. “Don’t tell Robb wha - ”

And then Sansa kisses him -  _kisses_   _him_ , with passion and flame, because her hands clench his shirt and she’s practically in his lap - which is a feat in itself, since he’s sitting on a high stool at the bar and there’s people  _everywhere_  - but really, he’s not going to question this. Because Sansa is kissing him like she  _wants_  to and fuck, she feels good in his arms.

And before it can really sink in - she tastes like vanilla and rose and her hair is still tangled in his fingers and the soft fabric of her blouse feels like a caress in his palms - Sansa pulls back. Her eyes seem sharp, her face flushed, a hint of a grin in the corner of her lips. Her face leans backward, but her feet are still perched on bottom of the bar stool. 

“Don’t tell him about that.” She turns back to a group of girls at a table - and maybe if Theon could think, he’d recognize most of them as her friends - and  _winks_. 

Theon blinks, several times. “That - what was - was that - ” Words, other than  _holy fuck, damn,_ and  _wow_  escape him, but he wants to fucking grab her and kiss her  _properly_. But instead, he shakes his head. “I won’t tell Robb. He’d kill me anyway.”

Sansa grins, hopping slightly backwards, putting space between them. “Probably.” She hesitates. “If I ever need a pretend boyfriend again - ”

Theon tries not to grin, really he does. “I’ll be here.”

Sansa leaves, hiding a smile, and Theon shakes his head before ordering another beer.


	2. Art of Subtly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "you should do theonsa in winterfell (think robert never came??) and robb finding out"

At first, Robb thinks nothing of it.

Sansa visits during their training, Jeyne Poole attached at her hip. Her face is flushed from the cold, he assumes, and her face eager where she usually isn’t.

Although Theon is excellent at archery, he misses his first two shots. “What’s wrong with you?” asks Robb, arms crossed and doing his best not to be smug. “Finally joined us mere mortals in archery talent?”

Theon huffs, drawing his bow once again. “I twisted my shoulder this morning. Just need to warm it up.” His eyes glance sideways - towards their audience - before he stands straighter.

Robb frowns when Sansa stands taller too.

This time, Theon hits the center of the target. Grinning widely, Theon turns back to Robb. “Mere mortal indeed.”

Robb rolls his eyes and takes his own spot, perhaps missing Theon winking off into the distance.

–

Suspicions grow weeks later, over dinner. Theon sits beside him, as he always does; but his attention is on the other side of the hall, where his sisters sit.

“Are Arya and Sansa fighting again?” Robb asks between bites of meat. “Or did Mother - ”

“I'll be back,” says Theon abruptly. He leaves the room without warning, Robb left staring at his back, jaw slack. 

As he reaches for his goblet, he spots a flash of red hair in the corner of his eye. Sansa slips out the hall - the same direction as Theon…

But Jon takes Theon’s empty seat, promptly begins a rousing discussion on the merits of sneaking out of the castle that night, and Robb forgets his suspicions.

–

It’s the night he overhears them that confirms it.

_“My Lady, we must tell your family soon. If I have to hear of one more marriage proposal…”  
_

_“I am just as sick of finding reasons to reject them. Father may think I’m flighty.”_

_“You scare them away with your fire and beauty. A true lady wolf.”  
_

_“Wolves are also loyal to their pack. Their family. Whether by blood or by choice.”  
_

A pause and Robb steps closer as he hears shuffling. _“I still cannot believe you chose me, Sansa.”_

_“Once you decided interest in me… I don’t think I ever had a chance.”_

The voices silence, but Robb knows they are still there. Their shadows grow close in the hallway and Robb does not hear their retreat. So instead, Robb leaves - perhaps he  _should_  stay. But he’s heard enough.

–

The next day, when Theon and Sansa share a secret glance and smile over breakfast, Robb rolls his eyes and elbows Theon in the stomach. “You need to work on the art of subtly, Greyjoy. Sansa may enjoy you looking like a lovestruck fool, but others in the family may not be as receptive.”

Theon chokes on his ale in response.

Slapping him on the back, Robb holds back a grin, instead forcing his voice to sound menacing. “Tell Father.” Theon nods, still gathering his wits and Robbs lets the grin free. “And find a better hiding spot.”

As Theon turns red, Robb turns away, pleased.


	3. One Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "theonsa + sharing a dance (wedding, a dance, dealer's choice), perhaps?? <3"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Annie's fic which you should totally read.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412565/chapters/43610222) Serves as a missing scene from the last chapter.

Theon smiles more, especially today, and Sansa is happy to see it.

But he doesn’t dance.

When Robb leaves his side to find his new bride, Theon sinks into the shadows; he doesn’t seem sad, at least to Sansa, but he’s perfectly fine remaining out of the way.

That won’t do.

Sansa picks up her skirts and walks towards him, dodging the dancers and the drunkards and the chaos of celebration. When she draws closer, Theon lifts his gaze to her as if sensing her approach. 

Straightening, Sansa glares at him. “The night is almost over and you haven’t asked me to dance.”

Theon tries not smile. “The night is young, Princess.” His voice drops, a hint of roughness that reminds me of brick wall against her back and his lips on hers. “And I do not think I can dance with you without acting improper.” His eyes flicker to her lips. “You are beautiful.”

Sansa feels warm. “Just one dance, Theon.” She hopes her soft voice and gentle eyes can sway him… and when he tilts his head to ceiling with a small groan, Sansa feels victorious.

He offers his arm and she takes it.

They try to stay out of the way - this night is about Robb and his bride, the King and Queen of the North. Tonight, they are just Sansa and Theon, dancing in the corner.

Theon leads. Sansa remembers fondly the many times they practiced together as children; she can recall the ghost of his feet stepping on her toes. He’s improved, however. His hand is steady on his waist; a light grip, but his fingers light sparks across her skin. Resisting the urge to draw closer, her fingers graze the curls on his neck. His thumb caresses hers, their hands clasped tightly, as Theon catches her eyes and never strays.

They dance in silence, connected by hands and heart; Sansa loses track of time - it may have been days or mere moments before the song ends and the next one begins, at which point Theon kisses her hand and bows before leaving her to aid the groom. But even in the seconds before he lets her go, she feels understood.

And  _she_  understands.

_This_  is love.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can you write something inspired by "From the Grave" by James Arthur? It feels very "theonsa"

When everyone - not  _everyone_ , not the injured or the children or those who could not fight, but everyone else - traveled south to fight for the Dragon Queen, Sansa was alone.

Not  _alone_  - Bran, or the shell of him, was still there. Brienne, always her protector. Podrick. Northern lords, injured from the battle against the dead and Northern ladies, waiting for their families to reunite.

But Sansa was lonely. Her family - that which still remained of it - was gone. Bran, who never really returned. Jon, blinded by love or lust or loyalty. Arya, wild and determined and so, so stubborn. And  _Theon_  - 

Sansa didn’t like to think of it.

 

 

So, as days past and Sansa waited and waited and  _waited_  to hear word from the South, she spent more and more time in the Godswood. Her family felt closer here, both those alive and dead. It was calm, peaceful, a sanctuary from acting as the Lady of Winterfell. 

And it was there she heard the horns.

“Lady Sansa!” A guard shattered the peace, panting; but his face held a tiny smile and hope quickly rose in Sansa’s chest. “A group of soldiers have returned - ”

Without waiting for him to finish, Sansa lifted her skirts and ran. It was not appropriate or polite or expected, but the  _need_  to see who had returned…

The group was small. Only twenty, all Northern bannermen. Sansa did not expect to see Arya among them, and with no sight of bright blonde hair, she was not surprised that Jon was missing as well.

But Sansa froze, her hands still twisted in her skirts, when she saw him.

“Theon?”

He spun to face her, a cut on his cheek covered in dried blood and dirt covering his beard, ash still stuck to his air. He was dirty and sweaty and tired… but he was  _there_ , in front of her.

Alive.

And in that moment, Sansa did not care what was appropriate or polite or expected - so she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.

Theon, to his credit, embraced her just as tightly.

Head buried in his shoulder - he smelled awful at first breath, but he was still Theon, still salt and ocean - her hands automatically found the unkempt curls sneaking onto his neck. His hands around her felt more confident this time, not as hesitant, as if he understood the ache in her chest, the pull of his heart on hers. His lips were so close to her face, his breath warm against her skin… Sansa wished to sink into it, into him.

“I told you I would return to you,” he said, low just by the shell of her ear. The shivers across her spine were captured by his fingers slowly easing their grip.

Sansa closed her eyes and took a breath before loosening her own grip around him. “I would have killed you myself if you hadn’t.” She stepped back, mindful of the audience around them unsuccessfully trying to avoid watching their reunion. His eyes were strong against hers, clear and shining and Sansa felt warmer. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

Theon’s hand flinched, as if he wanted to raise it, to touch her, caress her - and Gods, she wished he would. Instead, his hands captured hers, their fingers not quite intertwined, but the weight of them balanced against each other, just puzzle pieces fitted loosely together. He anchored her, she pushed him. 

His eyes remained locked on hers.

“I came home, Lady Sansa.”

And Sansa knew that he did not mean Winterfell. 


	5. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "sansa and theon paired together for some sort of school assignment"

"Are you gonna be doing that all night?”

Sansa looked up from her laptop screen and narrowed her eyes. “Doing what? Working on this paper due tomorrow morning?” The incredulity in her voice shouldn’t have amused him, but it did. “Yes, i am going to work on this all night if that’s what it takes.” She lowered her voice, but Theon could still hear her very clearly. “Maybe it wouldn’t take as long if  _someone_  would actually help…”

The library around them was active, but quiet as the hours passed. One of the more socially-minded libraries on campus, the building felt like a living, breathing entity; not sleepy in the late hours but instead filled with buzzing pressure to stay focused. It was this energy, a deep rhythm pulsing in his chest, that caused him to sigh.

“I was talking about your leg. You keep shaking it.” He supposed the pressure was getting to her too. He tilted his head, studying her - her eyes were dark and annoyed and her red hair was tied back in a messy bun, strands falling across her forehead. And her cheeks grew pink.

Her leg stopped moving. “Sorry - I just really want to get this done.” Her voice sharpens again. “Okay?”

He raised an eyebrow as he took a long drink. It was a clear bottle and just water but he suspected Sansa, like everyone else, believed differently. “I would help, but you don’t seem to want it.”

For a moment, anger and disappointment warred across Sansa’s face, but they both fell away quickly, hidden by indifference. Theon wished the curtain would lift again, maybe a little; he much prefered irritated and annoyed Sansa to cold and apathetic Sansa.

But that maybe spoke more about him than her.

“I want you to help,” she said, finally, her voice flat. There was a moment, a pause, where sadness and worry flitted in the wrinkles of her forehead, but they quickly disappeared. “If you could spare some of your time to read over the outline I created, some input would be welcome.”

Professional Sansa, meanwhile, Theon definitely did not like.

But he kept his mouth shut and opened their shared document to scan the outline she had created. Theon may not have cared about this paper, or this class, or his grades in general, but Sansa clearly did. So, for her, he decided to try, a little. Maybe.

As he read her outline - a rough sketch of their argument with a thesis statement cautious instead of commanding and haphazard facts only circumstantially supporting their position - Theon’s frown grew.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa chewed her lip watching him read and Theon wanted her to stop. It was too distracting. “Why do you look like that?”

Theon stopped reading. “Look like what?” he said, trying not to grin or tease or  _smirk._ He was serious and he was trying, damn it. 

“Like what you’re reading is shit.”

“I was going to put it more delicately…” Theon trailed off, wincing as her shoulders slumped and the fire in her eyes dimmed considerably. “There’s plenty here, we just need to organize it.”

Her hands sunk into her hair, frustration coloring her tone. “I’ve been  _trying_  to do that. But - there’s just so much information and I’m not sure what’s important and I really,  _really_  need to do well on this paper - ” 

“Hey.” Theon interrupted, his hand resting over hers. “We got this.”

Sansa glanced at their hands and Theon quickly pulled back, sitting on his hand instead. She sighed, loudly, before twisting her screen around so they could both see it. “These are all the sites I found while doing research. I’m - ” her eyes closed, as if she was bracing herself; or maybe finding the strength, “I’m too overwhelmed to create the outline. How about I work on finding the examples in the publications while you work on this?”

Theon hoped the surprise he felt - someone asking  _him_  for help? - missed his face and instead stayed lodged deeply within his chest. Shrugging, he avoided her eyes. “Sounds good.”

“Good.”

(They worked until late that night - Theon believed his computer blinked 3 _:36am_  back at him at one point - but they finished. It wasn’t perfect, Theon wasn’t sure it ever could be, but it was decent and it was  _done_  and when Sansa pressed submit, her relieved smile was the only reason he could keep his eyes open at all.)


	6. Ring Pop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "theonsa + vegas wedding"
> 
> Inspired by Sophie/Joe's wedding pic.

The original plan is a destination wedding in Europe. Them, Sansa’s family, Theon’s sister, and a few friends.

But as the guest list keeps growing - friends of her father’s,  _his_  father, an entire family called the Martells that neither had met before in their life - Sansa feels control of her own wedding quickly slipping away.

“I don’t want to disappoint Mom and Dad, but…”

Theon pulls her into his lap, curled into their living room couch. Wrapping her hair around his fingers, he talks into her shoulder. “I want you to be happy.” Resting his chin, he looks up at her. “Is this making you happy?”

Sansa shakes her head.

Theon hesitates -  an idea, a suggestion from Robb thrown out in passing, without real seriousness - but his hands run down her arms until they hold her own. “Do you trust me?”

“More than anything,” says Sansa, a small smile growing on her face. “What are you thinking?”

Theon grins.

 

 

Five hours and a flight later, Sansa giggles. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” She sobers for a second, the purple ring pop on her hand frozen midway to her mouth. “We can’t telling anyone about this.”

Theon tries not to smile. “Of course not.”

“I’m  _serious_ ,” she says, her chest against his, her hand resting casually, naturally on his shoulder. Her dress is soft and white and flowy and he wears a black button down that feels like silk under her skin. “My family would  _kill_  us.” Her head tilts as she takes a lick of her ring pop. “Mainly you though.”

“I like to think I’ve grown on them.” Theon lifts her hand to his mouth. For a moment, Sansa thinks he’s going to kiss her hand - weirdly romantic for him - but then her fingers curl under his as he sucks  _her_ ring pop.

“Hey!” She shoves him - gently, on the arm, with no real force because they know each other better than that - and points to his own hand. “Get your own!”

Theon grabs her other hand and starts to move towards the chapel. “Then let’s get to it so I can eat my ring pop.”

“So eager.” Sansa follows, but just before the door she pauses. “Hey.” Theon stops; his gaze is warm and safe and serious, but glittering with hope and possibilities. The gentle ripples of a stream before feeding into the waterfall. “I love you, you know.”

Theon turns to face her completely, hand in hand, chest to chest, face to face. “I know.” Her smile escapes her before she can catch it and Theon grins back. “I love you, Sansa Stark.”

She kisses him, soft and sweet and short because there’s a wedding night happening in less than an hour anyway, and they walk together down the aisle. Their officiant - Elvis, of course - awaits.

 

 

After their first kiss as husband and wife:

“I’m keeping my last name, by the way.”

And Theon laughs, loud and bright, and Sansa knows she’ll have this moment memorized forever. 


	7. Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Theonsa + pregnant sansa modern au pleasee"

When Sansa arrives home, she’s surprised to find Theon waiting for her. Dinner has been cooked - or rather, reheated since they had so many leftovers from family dinner last night - and the aromas fill their apartment. There are candles decorating the counters and tables, a bouquet of flowers resting in a vase in the middle, and soft music playing from their speakers.

Sansa tilts her head, biting back a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just felt like having a romantic meal with my wife.” Theon grins walking towards her and grabbing her hand. Pulling her into him, he wraps an arm around her waist. “Hello, wife.”

Sansa laughs into his lips. “Husband.” She separates, just a little, to better study him. “What did you do?” she asks, narrowing her eyes slightly.

His face is the picture of innocence. Sansa is even more suspicious.

Theon shrugs. “Can’t a man just want to wine and dine without ulterior motive?”

“No.”

“Well,” he says, not letting go of her as he begins to walk backwards towards the couch. When he reaches it, he tumbles down; Sansa squeals but he holds her, placing her gently in his lap. “You caught me.” Lips on her skin, Theon begins kisses her neck. “You’re beautiful.”

Sansa is both intrigued and distracted. “ _Theon,”_ she says with both heat and humor. “What is going  _on_?”

His teeth graze her ear but he sighs into her shoulder.

Pulling back slightly, his neck rests on the cushion and Sansa admires him. The scar under his brow is sometimes covered by his unkempt hair, but he’s recently got a haircut. Now she traces it with her fingers; he doesn’t flinch anymore.

“I was in the bathroom this morning after you left for work…” Sansa raises her eyebrow, fingers now playing with his curls, but says nothing which Theon takes as the correct sign to continue. “I noticed something in the trash.”

Sansa’s hand stills in his hair.

“Were you at the doctor’s this afternoon?”

Her grip tightens but she doesn’t let go. His hands on her waist are an anchor. “No - Arya’s. I just - I needed to make sure a couple more times.”

“And?” His voice cracks, slightly, and when Sansa stares at him - eyes so bright, so eager, despite his attempts at remaining unconcerned - her heart soars. 

Theon wants this as much as she does.

Softly, barely above a whisper: “I’m pregnant.”

His grip on her tightens as his face quickly dissolves into joy. A laugh bursts through him, out of him, and Sansa grins when he kisses her. His joy transferred to her, through his lips and his arms, and she finds herself wishing she could bury herself within him. 

“You’re  _pregnant_ ,” he repeats, suddenly standing, carrying her and Sansa is glad it’s Theon, because she has to wrap her legs around his waist to keep from falling. No one else is allowed to hold her this close.

“We’re having a baby,” she says holding his face when he finally puts her down, still laughing, a hint of tears building in his eyes. “I’m going to be a mom!”

Theon kisses her again.

“And you’re going to be a dad!”

He freezes. “Sansa - ”

At this, she looks at him, straight on and without hesitance. Their chests are locked tight, heart to heart, but it’s his attention she needs. “This baby is yours, Theon Greyjoy. Sperm is sperm. I don’t care about biology. You are going to raise this child, love him or her with your whole heart, and they are going to call you  _Dad_. Okay?”

Theon leans his forehead on hers. His voice just above a whisper: “Okay.” Her hands travel from his cheeks to his hair again. “I’m going to be a  _dad_.”

This time, the laugh bursts out of Sansa and she launches herself back in his arms. 

(Hours later, they reheat the reheated leftovers.)


	8. Ten Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "theonsa+ karaoke night/date"

It’s the worst night of the year.

_Karaoke night._

A tradition as old as… well, Bran. For  _year_ sthe Starks have a standing invitation at the Winterfell Karaoke Bar on the last Friday in May. When they were kids, they’d stay near the stage, Ned and Cat standing guard, as they took turns belting out classic songs. Sometimes they were emotional - Theon’s favorite was Robb’s horribly out of tune rendition of  _Hey There Delilah_  that preceded his proposal to Margaery a few years back - and other times…

There was a strict social media ban for a reason.

No, these performances had to be witnessed  _live_. If you missed one, you were shit out of luck.

So, naturally, Theon had only ever missed two karaoke nights - one, night his father died; and two, last year. 

“Are you and Sansa going to do your duet this year?” Robb leans back in his chair, arm resting across the back of his wife’s. Arya’s just finished her solo -  _Like a Prayer_  - and Gendry cheers on his other side. “We were all kind of sad neither of you were here last time.”

Theon glances sideways, eyes flickering briefly behind him to bright red hair and a wide smile. He shrugs. “We hadn’t talked about it but I don’t see why not.”

He still remembers their duet - when Theon was 15 and Sansa 13, and Sansa had tricked him into singing the Backstreet Boys. Once he had heard the first strains of the song he had  _unfortunately_  memorized, Theon decided the only way to get through the experience would be to perform in the most ridiculous fashion - crazy dance moves, off-pitch singing, and exaggerated emotions. 

Sansa, of course, responded in kind.

And a tradition was born.

Robb narrows his eyes slightly. “She didn’t talk to you about it already?”

Theon shakes his head, looking forward at the stage. Sansa skips onto it, immediately picking her song on the machine. She’s shining. “Nah. It’s fine, we’ll wing it.”

And then Sansa presses play. And looks straight at Theon. “You joining me or not?” she says into her mic.

And Theon can’t help but grin. He knows Robb is watching him with suspicion, but Sansa beams at him as he quickly climbs to the stage.

Just in time:

_“Listen baby…. ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low…”  
_

The song isn’t any different than what they’d usually pick - a love song, something fun and slightly upbeat. But this year, Theon doesn’t over-exaggerate his movements and he doesn’t purposefully sing off tune. This year… he sings. It’s not  _great_ , but it’s not bad and Sansa is visibly surprised.

But she’s smiling.

Especially when:

_“If you need me, call me, no matter where you are…”  
_

Sansa Stark is an angel most of the time, a devil when it matters - like when she plots revenge for one of Arya’s pranks, or when she attends Rickon’s parent-teacher conferences, or when they’re in bed and she’s moaning into his sheets - but in that moment, she’s just ethereal: laughing her lyrics, swaying closer to him, eyes soft. 

They play to audience during the chorus, but Theon turns to sing to Sansa during the next verse. Because the lyrics are too good - she’s brilliant, picking  _this_  song, like she can read his thoughts and maybe she can - and she’s dancing like everyone is watching. When they start singing overlapping harmonies, he spins her and she almost misses her line, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. 

He wants to kiss her.

As the song fades, and they’re out of breath and facing each other, the audience clapping and whooping and cheering…

“Fuck it.”

Theon kisses his girlfriend and Sansa kisses him back.

(Later:

“When were you planning on tell me, mate?”

“Before the wedding, at least.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, Greyjoy.”)

(Last year:

“You need to stop kissing me if we’re gonna make it to karaoke, Theon.”

“I’ve waited almost ten years to kiss you. I’m not going to stop now.”

“That’s…  _oh, yes_ … fair.”)


	9. Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "hello self you really wanted to write "Sansa knits an ugly sweater and forces Theon to wear it" so do it"

When she gives to him, Theon thinks it’s a joke. “You want me to wear this?”

Her eyebrow raised elegantly, Sansa taps her foot. “Obviously. Why else would I be giving it to you?”

“It’s not - ” He lifts it higher, studies the attached pom-poms and sequins. “Are you sure this isn’t for Robb?”

“I’m positive it’s not for Robb, Theon.”

He turns the purple sweater around. On the back, stitched in red, are the words  _Return to Sansa_. He blinks for a moment. “Wait - does this mean - ”

And Sansa whips out another sweater, knitted in the same fabric, just in red. Purple words on the back read  _I’m Sansa_. 

Theon grins, quickly pulls on the sweater. “I love you.”

Rolling her eyes, Sansa wears her own. When Theon pulls her into him to kiss her, she laughs into his mouth. “You’re an idiot.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“But I love you anyway.”


	10. Fajitas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "theonsa + gendrya accidental double date"

Theon picks the restaurant - Mexican, said he’s been craving guacamole and tacos - and Sansa can’t decide between her usually quesadilla, or going adventurous with the pineapple fajitas. 

When she’s debating the benefits of sour cream - and Theon is grinning at her with an affectionate smile across the table - she can almost pretend that this is not a secret date.

And it’s not that they were  _hiding_  their relationship - per se - but when Arya and Gendry show up at the same restaurant, Sansa kicks Theon under the table.

“Fuck! What was that for?” asks Theon as he rubs his shin. When Sansa tilts her head, wide eyes and urgent, to the door, he rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure she already knows.”

“How does she  _know?_ You didn’t - ”

Theon sighs, loudly, before grabbing her hand in his. His thumb draws circles on her palm, calming her even if she doesn’t  _want_  to be calm. “I didn’t tell her. But I thought we stopped caring about hiding it anyway.”

“ _You_  thought that. I’d really rather Robb not kill you before we get married, thanks.”

The grin on Theon’s face is nothing short of smug, and if Arya’s eyes hadn’t narrowed in their direction, Sansa might be more mad about it. “We’re getting married, huh, love?”

“Shut up, she’s coming!”

“That’s what she - ”

“Don’t bother,” says Arya the moment she reaches their table. Her arms are crossed and her face is stern, but Gendry is trying not to laugh behind her. “I know you two are dating.”

Sansa sits straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Theon and I are just having dinner, as friends - ”

“We saw you two making out in your car after family dinner last week. Save it.”

Sansa feels her face getting warmer. Theon just laughs in relief. “Thank god, I hate pretending I don’t want to push your sister against a wall and - ”

“Finish that sentence and I’m stabbing you with the butter knife.”

“ - and give her an innocent peck on the cheek as a show of my undying affection.”

The corner of Arya’s lips twitch. Sansa bets Theon takes that as a win.

Gendry shifts uncomfortably. “Um, so we’ll just be - ”

“Oh no way, mate,” says Theon, quickly standing to take the chair next to Sansa instead, pushing the couple toward the empty seats across from them. “You’re staying.”

Sansa opens her mouth to protest, but Arya beats her to it. “Oh, no, it’s fine - we don’t - ”

But Gendry nudges her gently into the seat. “Yes we do.”

Arya glares at Gendry and Gendry just stares back at her. Sansa isn’t quite sure what non-verbal argument they are having, but to her surprise, Gendry wins. Arya huffs, but sits down. “Fine.”

If Arya is giving in… Sansa glances at her  _boyfriend_. “Why am I dating you again?”

“You’re the one who said we’re getting married. No take backs.”

Sighing, Sansa picks up her menu. She’s definitely ordering the fajitas. 


	11. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "YARA & SANSA TALKING ABOUT THEON POST-CANON"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve been avoiding this one for…. many reasons. i was going to incorporate it into another fic but i dunno if it’ll ever get written, so i figured i’ll just post it.
> 
> missing scene from 8x06.
> 
> i'm sad now.

Perhaps it’s luck that their paths intersect with Yara Greyjoy’s. Or maybe it is fate, with the urn Sansa carries still in her hands. 

Or maybe it is planned, unconsciously. 

Whatever it is, Sansa wordlessly nods at Arya and Bran; Arya pushes Bran ahead.

“Lady Greyjoy,” says Sansa, only her slightly shaking hands any indication of her nerves.

“Your Grace, Sansa Stark - Queen in the North.” There’s an edge to her voice, one Sansa expected. It’s a mixture of disgust, disappointment, and anger. But the loudest emotion is pain. “What does your Grace want?”

Sansa lets her gaze flicker downwards for a moment; but she is a queen now and will not be intimidated. With clear voice and strong heart, Sansa ignores the cracks inside. “I want to apologize for my sister’s earlier threat.”

“No you don’t,” says Yara, her smirk sarcastic and her voice bitter. “You only wished you could have made the threat yourself.”

It makes sense now; the confidence that masked anger and fear in Theon as a child. Sansa sees it again, now, with Yara. She bites back a smile. “That would not have been proper.”

Yara rolls her eyes. “Your brother killed my queen.” Her hands are tense, gripping her sword and axe tightly. “He killed my queen - but you. You killed my brother.”

A crack, somewhere within her chest; it’s numb now, not as painful as before, but it’s still there, an acidic fire threatening to burn her whole. “He saved my life.” The words are honey on her lips. “I loved him.”

Yara’s eyes narrow. “He spoke of you. Fondly. Said  _you_  saved  _him_. You’re pretty, I will give him that. But no matter how good or pretty you are - you’re here and he’s not.”

“You’re right.” There’s nothing else to be said; Sansa knows it, is living it. It’s hard and painful and she tries not to dwell on it, not too much, because there’s too much to do and she’s suffered enough loss in her life. 

It scares her how easy it is to move on, now.

“I want you to have this.” Sansa gives the ashes to his sister, his blood, his family. The scars on her heart pulse. “We had to burn him - but he deserves to be scattered at sea. This is half.”

“Where is the rest?”

“In the crypts of Winterfell.” Yara takes the urn from her, studying it, softly - it’s a rare moment where Sansa can see the affection and pain, before she hides it once more. Sansa stares at the urn - a light gray pot she had Gendry create for her, with the leaves of the Weirwood floating on water. “He was a Greyjoy by blood and by heart.”

Yara looks up at her but Sansa stares at her hands.

“He was your family and he died too far from the sea,” says Sansa, now locked onto Yara’s eyes - onto features so similar to  _his,_ a memory now, an echo. “But he was my family too.”

Yara watches her in silence, in thought. Finally: “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s not enough, will never be enough, but it is all Sansa can say. She has no regrets; only dreams, hopes, wishes.

“Me too.”

Yara walks past to her own ship and Sansa does not bother looking back.


	12. Post-It Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Love You + "on a post-it note"

When Theon wakes up, he has a headache.

Well, that’s putting it mildly.

He feels like fucking death.

His head hurts, his throat is dry, his face feels sticky, his stomach churns unpleasantly each time he moves, and his legs feel sore and heavy.

Theon knows exactly what this is; he  _knows_  it’s a hangover, because he drank way too much alcohol and way too little water and if anything, it hurts because this means Theon is getting  _old_  and has to  _moderate_  himself and it’s all very disappointing.

Groaning, Theon covers his eyes with his right arm, while his left stretches to reach out around him. He feels pillows, a wall, and mostly air - no lamp or side table, so he must have passed out on the couch. When he moves to run his fingers through his hair, however, his right hand catches on a note stuck to his forehead.

Squinting as he reads, Theon only doesn’t grin because it hurts too much.

_Asprin’s on the table next to the Gatorade. Left breakfast in the fridge. Be back for lunch. Love you._

Vaguely, Theon recalls stumbling into their shared apartment at one in the morning, explaining about how Jon tricked him into drinking whiskey, and curling up on the couch with his head in his girlfriend’s lap. There’s an echo of her voice -  laughter hidden between each word as he explains that she’s very  _pretty_  and he’s very  _lucky_  and  _I love you_  - 

Theon sighs.

(After breakfast and a shower, Theon writes on another one of Sansa’s post-it notes:  _Theon Greyjoy owes Sansa Stark _________ orgasms. To be redeemed as soon as possible._ He sticks the note on her pillow.)

(Later, Sansa slaps the IOU on his chest. “I want three.”

“As you wish.”

Theon gladly gets to work.)


	13. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Love You + "loud so everyone can hear"

Family dinner at the Stark house is, predictably, chaotic.

There are eight members of the Stark family, officially, by blood - Jon’s technically half, but you can’t be half a person, so Sansa rounds up - plus the one by marriage (Margaery, who’s all Tyrell, but somehow decided that marrying Robb was a good idea, so she’s stuck with them now). 

And then there’s the  _unofficial_  members, who are practically staples at the table. Gendry. Shireen. Jojen and Meera. Sam and Gilly. 

Theon.

This particularly night, it was twelve Starks and their adjacents (the Reeds were on vacation and Sam and Gilly on their honeymoon); after Robb and Margaery shared their plans to move into a new house, Catelyn turns to Sansa.

“How was your date the other night?”

Family dinner at the Stark house is chaotic, of course… until  _that_. The silence is suffocating. 

Sansa slowly swallows her food. “It was fine.”

Arya leans over to them, across Gendry, who continues eating over her. “ _Fine_? That doesn’t sound so good.”

Keeping her eyes away from the other end of the table, where Robb and Jon and Theon are watching her carefully, Sansa shrugs. “It was fine, really. I had a good time.” 

It wasn’t their first date and it wouldn’t be their last, so yes, it was  _fine_.

Bran studies her carefully, as he usually does. “You’re underselling it.”

“What does that mean?”

“You had an amazing time but you don’t want to get your hopes up.”

 _Too late_.

 _Of course_ , when Sansa  _wants_  everyone to be loud and chaotic and  _not listening_ , they suddenly are. She’s probably blushing too. “It was fine, okay? Let’s drop it.”

Margaery drops her spoon. “Oh wow, you  _really_  liked him! How come I didn’t hear about this?”

“It’s nothing - ”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Robb, of course. Why? Why her?

Theon shifts in his seat. “So I’m thinking about becoming a teacher - ”

“What’s his name? What does he look like?” Arya practically climbs into Gendry’s lap in an effort to get closer to Sansa. Gendry, as usual, does not mind this, but continues to eat as if this is a normal occurrence. Which, if Sansa is honest, it is.

Unfortunately.

Sansa sighs. “He’s cute, okay? Brown hair, blue eyes - just - it’s just - I really like this guy and I don’t want to scare him off and you all  _will_  - ”

“You couldn’t scare him off,” says Theon, loudly, cutting off Robb and Arya. “I’m - I’m sure he’s just grateful to spend time with you.”

Ned raises an eyebrow before nodding. “He’s right, sweetie. If he’s scared off then he’s not worth it.”

Sansa can’t look away from Theon. Who won’t look away from her.

 _Damn it_.

“It’s okay if it doesn’t work out, you know,” says Jon as he cuts into his meal. Robb nods beside him. “You’ve learned to be happy single and alone, that’s good.”

Sansa frowns. “Yeah, but that doesn’t - ”

“It’s okay to just have Lady and be in alone in your apartment,” says Arya, grinning as she returns to her own seat. “I always figured you’re get married and have lots of kids, but maybe this is just a reversal - ”

“But - ”

No one is listening to her; Jon and Robb loudly explain how they’ve probably scared away some suitors and Bran and Gendry argue that “old cat lady” is an outdated and offensive label. Arya and Margaery and Catelyn express their sadness over Sansa’s failed relationships… and Ned just watches her.

Theon looks uncomfortable.

The chaos has resumed and it threatens to spill out of her - 

“ _I’m in love with Theon_!”

Silence.

And then, all at once:

“I should have seen that - ”

“Theon?”

“Oh, fucking finally.”

“ _Theon?”_

“Okay, but why can’t we have old  _dog_  ladies?”

“Theon, really?”

The chaos continues, as it usually does, and Sansa slumps further into her chair. Her eyes catch Theon’s without her really thinking about it. 

He’s grinning. “You love me?” he mouths from across the table. Sansa blushes; it’s warm all of a sudden, especially when Theon’s grin transforms into a smug smirk, tinted with warmth and affection and Sansa’s stomach flips over. Suddenly, Theon stands. “I’m going to… go to the next room. Excuse me.”

Only Ned watches him leave, the others continuing their conversation - new topics, a whirlwind, jumping all over the place and never quite making sense - before Sanasa abruptly stands too. “I’m going to - ”

She never finishes the sentence, just ducking out of the room to follow Theon.

(Ten minutes later:

“Where’d Theon and Sansa go?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Right. Pretend I didn’t ask that.“)


	14. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I Love You" + before we jump

Fear.

It’s a panic in your gut and a rush of fire burning through your blood. It’s heavy, building and grow stronger - but it’s light, quick, rapidly pulling you, forward or back. Towards  _something_ , someone.

It’s not fear pulling Sansa forward now, though. It’s Theon, his face confused and torn, a new edge of grim determination in his jaw. His thin, ragged jaw. He’s bony and thin, exhausted and broken, but there is a glint in his eye and urgency in his grip. 

It’s hope, if anything.

Theon’s hands are gloved and Sansa both understands and doesn’t. They’re cornered - it’s the top of the castle walls and the snow bellow; there  _is_ no other option - Ramsay is not an option, staying here is not a option. This is a cage; her wings have been clipped and bruised and flayed.

But Theon holds her hand in his gloved one and looks at her. 

His eyes hold hope.

They must fly.

So they do.


	15. Before Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Love You + "too quick, mumbled into your scarf"

Lady tugs at her leash and Sansa tries not to laugh as Theon struggles to keep control. “Want me to take her?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Lady threatens to pull his arm apart. “I’m fine.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and wraps her arm around his waist. The park is quiet at this time of day; too late for the lunch rush but too early for kids to be out of school. Snuggled into Theon and his wool jacket, her pink scarf tickles her chin.

He smells like the day before winter, before the first snowfall of the season - it’s the possibilities, of the promise of mint and chocolate and family around the fire. He also smells like chlorine, because Theon  _always_  smells like chlorine, even when it’s not even swim season.

But it’s the middle of swim season.

Lady tugs again and Sansa subtly pushes them forward; Theon doesn’t object. “When do you hear back?”

Theon’s arm winds around her shoulders. “Not until the new year.” His eyes flicker to hers before returning to watching Lady sniff a bush. “I’m nervous.”

Sansa squeezes him closer. “You’ll get in. You’ll be amazing.” She grins. “Those kids are gonna be so lucky to have you as a teacher to corrupt them.”

Theon smiles at her, small and soft and god, he’s beautiful. Especially when he sighs and buries his head into her neck. He whispers something into her scarf. 

“What?” she asks, kissing his hair. Brown curls tickle her skin when he shakes his head. “You’re so weird.”

Theon lifts his head to kiss her temple. “Yeah, and you like me for it.” 

 _I love you for it_.

But the words stick to Sansa’s throat and Lady tests Theon again, and they walk forward, her dog leading them rather than the other way around. 

Sansa kisses Theon’s shoulder and he kisses her hair and Sansa smiles.


	16. Until

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I may regret this, but #32 with Theonsa please <3 <3 <3" ( + in a way I can’t return)

The gravestone is gray and dull and boring. The engravings even worse.

_Theon Greyjoy_

_Son, brother, friend_.

Sansa finds it disrespectful - it’s boring and generic and doesn’t  _capture_  him. Theon was  _more_  than just a son, or a brother, or a friend. He was…  _Theon._  Always smiling, until he wasn’t. Always talking and lively, until he wasn’t. Always strong, always brave, always…  _there._

Until he wasn’t.

Sansa knows she’s fated for a breakdown. When she first heard the news - Jon, at her doorstep, red eyes and shaking - Sansa was numb, unfeeling. it still doesn’t  _feel real_.

Theon’s dead.

 _Theon’s_  dead.

Theon’s  _dead_.

 _Theon is dead_.

The words feel empty, meaningless, whispers in the wind. 

Sansa sinks to the ground before his gravestone. Carefully, she arranges the white roses at the bottom of the marble. Otherwise, it’s bare - no one has been here, at least not any time recently.

Somehow that fact hurts more than his actual death.

“Hey,” she says, voice cracking in the quiet. “Theon…” Her hand rests on his name; she can almost pretend to feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, his skin on hers, warmth and heat and  _him -_

“I miss you.” Her finger traces the curve of the  _G_. “You always knew exactly what to do, what to say - what I needed.” Her hand falls into her lap and everything is so quiet. “I never - I never got to tell you how much you mean to me, Theon.”

Her voice cracks on his name.

And her heart cracks open too.

The tears flow now, finally, salt on her lips and cotton in her throat. She doesn’t bother wiping them away; looking like a mess, Sansa lets the outside reflect the mess churning within.

“I think I might have loved you, Theon Greyjoy.” His name blurs. “Maybe if - if there was more  _time_  - ” Hand resting on her chest, Sansa tries to breath. “I found you and then I  _lost_  you and I - ”

Sansa cries until she can’t cry any longer; then, after a kiss to gray marble, she walks away from the grave, from his body, from  _him_. 

(And maybe, she walks away from his ghost, smiling sadly, whispering  _I love you too_.)


	17. To Be Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Love You + "muffled, from the other side of the door"

_“I love you!”_

Theon frowns. “You shouldn’t.” He leans against the door of his apartment; he imagines Sansa standing in front of him, just on the other side. Fist raised, eyes glittering, looking as beautiful as always.

But he doesn’t open the door.

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, Theon Greyjoy,” says Sansa, her voice dangerously low. Maybe her hand drops, maybe she leans against the door too. “I love you and I - I hope you could love me too.”

Theon wants to laugh, to cry, to scream. “Could?” He picks laughing, loud and bitter and incredulous. “I’m so fucking in love you Sansa, I can’t open this door. I can’t…” he imagines her standing before her, hand caressing her cheek, skin on skin. “You deserve so much. I can’t - I’m not - ”

“ _Theon_ ,” she whispers, maybe yells. Her voice saying his name is the light tracing of fingers against his skin; it could leave goosebumps or scratches. “Please open the door. I need - I just - just please open the door?”

His hand lingers on the doorknob. “If I let you in, I’m not going to be able to let you go.”

“You don’t have to.”

But he  _does_ and he knows it, even if she doesn’t. But in this moment, he wants to be selfish - it’s a trait knocked out of him, beaten out of him, a long time ago. He’s learned his lesson. But when it comes to Sansa… Theon wants to be selfish.

His hand shakes, but he opens the door.

Sansa rushes into his arms. Theon breathes her in, red hair in his mouth and her hands around his waist. He can’t hear what exactly she whispers into his shoulder, his neck, but he has his suspicions.

He’s whispering the same into her hair, her neck. With no door between them, it’s harder to deny the truth.

“I love you too.” 


	18. Hesitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Love You + "through a song" (and that song is Hesitate by the Jonas Brothers)

Sansa turns off the ignition just before her phone vibrates. Frowning, she reads the crypt text.

**Theon:**  I’m bad at words but I hope you understand this. [https://open.spotify.com/track/7fiFJADUcHwTdYLmnZeLAy](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F7fiFJADUcHwTdYLmnZeLAy&t=YWNlYWNjOWU2NDdkMWQwODgxNDJiNWU2ZGU4MmI4ODU4ZGEwNTE1MyxrcFpWdlpnSw%3D%3D&b=t%3A4LtcmCVg8NiPYkXz0-uU5g&p=https%3A%2F%2Fleopoldfitz.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F185481458925%2Ftheonsa-23&m=1)

WIthout hesitation, she clicks on the link. As it loads, she searches outside - she’s parked just outside Theon’s apartment and expected to see him waiting for her. But there’s nothing.

The song plays.

_Kiss the tears right off your face  
Won’t get scared that’s the old, old, old me_

Immediately, Sansa opens the car door, the melodies still vibrating in her hand. She recognizes the song, vaguely, having heard it a few times the past week. It’s new, she knows that, but what she’s only just beginning to understand iswhy Theon would send it to her.

_Time, time only heals if we work through it now  
And I promise we’ll figure it out_

Last week Sansa had lost her patience with him; in a moment of weakness, Theon had opened a bottle of beer. When Sansa came home, it was still full, but the look in his eye had terrified her. 

_Why didn’t you call me?_

_I only opened it._

_But you_ opened  _it._

_I didn’t want to bother you._

_I can’t be there for you if you don’t let me!_

And Theon explained that sometimes it’s easier to work through his thoughts by himself, without worrying about her and her feelings because those would always come first. And Sansa understood that he didn’t mean to shut her out, but to first understand his own feelings before he could share them.

That night Sansa held him as they slept with legs intertwined.

Sansa knocks on his door, the song still playing.

_I thank the oceans for giving me you_  
You saved me once and now I’ll save you too  
I won’t hesitate for you

The door swings open and Theon stands there.

He’s wearing a suit - his  _only_  suit, she knows, because she was there when he bought it for Robb’s wedding - and the living room is covered in flowers and soft lighting. Frozen, Sansa tightens her grip on her phone. “Theon?”

Shaking his head, Theon takes her hand and leads her inside, softly shutting the door behind her. “I’m terrible with words. Just… listen, okay?”

Sansa can only nod. She watches his eyes, bright and hopeful and nervous, and she can’t help but step closer, almost stepping on his toes. Her fingers grip the collar of his jacket, his tie, and he gently holds her waist.

It’s almost like that time, just after university, when he found her at a bar, drunk and lost. He held her and they swayed to some shitty song; Sansa doesn’t remember the lyrics or the rhythm, but she remembers Theon looked at her like she was celestial while completely sober.

_Thank you. For being here._

_You were there for me. Just returning the favor._

_I’m proud of you._

_You can survive this too._

Sansa rests her forehead on his, her phone still clenched tightly in her left land.

_Pull me close and I’ll hold you tight_  
Don’t be scared ‘cause I’m on your side  
Know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you

Maybe if she it was any other time, she’d notice that Theon cooked dinner, and that somehow Lady is there, and that there might be whispers in the back room. But in that moment, with Theon sinking to his knees and pulling out a blue box, she can only remember:

_This is real, you know that, right? You’re it._

_Forever, huh?_

_Forever_.

Sansa feels the sobs begin, because the emotions in her heart cannot be contained. They escape as salty tears and she catches them with her fingers and the corners of her lips turning into a grin.

_I thank the oceans for giving me you  
You saved me once and I’ll save you too  
I won’t hesitate_  _for you_

The silence crackles. Until: “Will you marry me?”

Sinking down to the ground with him, so she can look straight into his eyes, equals and balanced and  _partners_ : “Yes.”

(The ring ends up on her finger, somehow, but all she recalls later is Theon kissing her, grinning into her lips, her tears on his face and her heart aching to meet with his.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, finally caught up! for now.


	19. My Zipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "a concept: ‘give a little’ by hanson, for a silly flirty little theonsa modern au wherein he’s probably trying to seduce her but just being ridiculous about it okay i am JUST SAYING"

Theon inhales, closing his eyes. When he opens them, his exhale is loud and deep and he shakes out the nerves.

_I got this_.

He likely doesn’t, probably, very most  _definitely_  does not, but he walks towards the bar anyway.

Theon has a type; he’s known it for a long time, even before Robb or Jon would make fun of him for it. Tall women, sometimes taller than him, with bright red hair. It was, in fact, Theon who introduced Ygritte to Jon, but that is neither here nor there. (As was his  _other_  type: fit, tall men… also with red hair. Fuck.)

Sometimes there’s a voice in the back of his head that laughs at him because really his type is  _Sansa_  but he usually ignores it. He just likes tall redheads and Sansa just happens to be one.

And he just happens to approach the gorgeous redhead sitting at the bar nursing a bright pink drink, with long legs crossed on her stool. From behind, she looks like an angel in the shadows of the lighting, and Theon congratulates himself on his perfect taste.

“Are those space pants, because your butt is out of this world?”

The woman pauses, her drink halfway to her lips, before turning to face him. And suddenly, Theon wishes he had picked literally  _anyone else._

_“Sansa?”  
_

Sansa tilts her head, face giving away no expression. “I shouldn’t be surprised. That was truly awful.”

“Oh - I’m - I’m so sorry - I didn’t think - ”

“Didn’t think it was me?” There’s a small smile in the corner of her lips and she sips her drink. “I dunno whether that’s a good thing or not.”

“Fuck.” Theon runs his fingers through his hair before slumping into the seat beside her. “Don’t tell Robb I accidentally hit on you.”

“I wouldn’t call that  _hitting_  on me, exactly. That line was spectacularly terrible.” Sansa swirls her glass as Theon catches the bartender’s attention and orders a beer. “Has it worked for you before?”

Theon winces. “Not in the way it was probably intended.” He glances at her before pulling his bottle towards himself. “Girl’s like to laugh.”

Sansa’s lip struggle to remain unmoving. “Really?”

Theon leans sideways to face her more completely. It’s embarrassing, this conversation with her, but she’s here and he might as well - “I must be a snowflake, because I’ve fallen for you.”

Sansa waves him off. “Overdone.”

“There’s something wrong with my phone. It doesn’t have your number in it.”

“You can do better than that.”

“If you were a library book, I would check you out.”

“Boring.” But she might be smiling.

Theon goes deeper into his arsenal of pick-up lines. “If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?”

“Okay… clever.”

“My love for you is like diarrhoea, I just can’t hold it in.”

“That’s  _disgusting_. That works?”

Theon scoots closer to her, their knees touching. Without really thinking about, his hand lands behind hers on the counter. “That’s a nice shirt. Can I take you out of it?”

Sansa doesn’t bother to hide her grin. “Oh here we go.” She moves to fully face him, her arm now resting on his shoulder. God, she’s gorgeous. “Please continue.”

“Girl, your bone structure is giving my bone structure.” When he wiggles his eyebrows, Sansa giggles. His gaze flickers over her. “That dress would look great on my bedroom floor.”

“Oh would it now?”

His hand travels up her arm. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

If Sansa’s breathing hitches, Theon thinks it’s probably because he hits a ticklish spot on her elbow. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” she says, voice still teasing, but softer.

His eyes catch hers. “Nice legs. Let’s eat out.” Sansa’s tongue licks her bottom lip and Theon can’t look away from it even as he leans closer. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a mind like mine?” 

Her fingers twist in his hair. Her smile is small, but soft, secretive. Just an inch, and Theon could rest his forehead against hers. “If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put my name first so you could memorize what to moan later on tonight.”

Sansa exhales and Theon does everything in his power not to kiss her. Instead, he leans closer, right beside her ear, and whispers:

“Are you an elevator?”

“Oh god.”

“Because I’d like to go down on you.”

And  _fuck_ , because Sansa kisses him, hard, her teeth grazing his lips and her tongue pressing into his mouth.  _Fuck_ , Sansa is kissing him and she’s pulling his hair, the other hand on his thigh. Holding her neck, Theon kisses her back because  _fuck_   _he’s kissing Sansa_.

Theon pulls back, eventually, because Sansa has basically climbed into his lap somehow and he can feel her skin through the lace on the back of her dress. If she moved just slightly, she would feel just  _how much_  he enjoys kissing her.

So Theon kisses her cheek, her jaw, her ear. And trying to keep his voice flat, he whispers: “What has 36 teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “My zipper.”

Sansa throws back her head and  _laughs_ , and Theon feels like nothing could top this moment.

Until Sansa hops off her stool, tosses some cash onto the bar, and grabs his hand. “It’s true there are plenty of fish in the sea, but you’re the one I want to catch and mount back at my place.”

Theon gladly lets himself be dragged out of there.


	20. Long Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I Love You + "when we lay together on the fresh spring grass"

Sansa finds him under the shade of a tree, leaning against its trunk, sunglasses over his eyes and arms crossed. With messy hair and baggy t-shirt, Theon looks like he’s lost and misplaced… except the picnic blanket he sits on is bright pink and there’s a spread of food and lemonade set out before him.

She nudges his foot. When Theon doesn’t move, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t pretend to be asleep.”

“I’m not pretending.” Sighing, Sansa crosses her arms and stands above him without replying, tapping her foot. He lowers his shades to peek an eye out at her. “You’re in my sun.”

“You’re in the shade.”

Theon drops his hand. “What do you want?” he says, not really annoyed and mostly resigned. “Or does - ”

“Scoot over.” Sansa doesn’t know what makes her want to stay here, beside Theon, but it’s a better option than returning to the rest of the picnic - her siblings are playing an intense game of ultimate frisbee that she wants no part of. She is, however, surprised that Theon is here and not  _there_. Theon hesitates for a second but moves over, letting her sink down beside him and rest on the trunk. “So why aren’t you playing?”

Theon drags the container of cookies closer to him. Wordlessly, he hands Sansa a white chocolate macadamia nut - her favorite - before biting into a double chocolate chunk. “Not in the mood,” he says after swallowing.

It’s not really an answer, and they both know it. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

So Sansa leans her head against his shoulder instead. He freezes, for just a moment, but then relaxes, his arm snaking around her waist. Leaving a kiss at her temple, he lingers in her hair. “Someone could see,” he whispers.

Sansa smiles. “Let them.” She moves closer, so her leg rests on top of his, her hand resting on his chest now as she curls into him. “I’m tired and you’re quite the pillow.”

“Seems like a flimsy excuse.” When she nips at his shirt, he chuckles. “Right, no arguing.”

“Hmm, glad you’ve learned that after only a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Theon lifts his head and Sansa looks up. “I learned that  _years_  ago.”

She feels her forehead wrinkling. “We weren’t dating years ago.” There’s a very long pause - in which she thinks she hears his heart beat faster - before the realization sinks in. “Theon… how long - ”

“Long enough.” His voice is steady, but she can feels his grip tighten around her waist. Sitting up straighter, Sansa brings their faces closer and Theon’s voice softens. “Long enough to know you deserve - ”

Instead of letting him finish - because Sansa knows exactly what he’s going to say, and she’s still working on ridding him of  _that_ particular thought - she kisses him. Light and soft, but no less filled - filled with affection and comfort and all the feelings he evokes in her. Theon kisses her back, a tad desperate and a tad relieved. Smiling into his lips, Sansa moves to kiss his cheek and his shoulder before taking back her spot curled into his chest. 

Theon accepts her response and she feels him grinning into her hair instead.


	21. Lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: theonsa + "Have Fun"

"This isn’t too much, right?”

Sansa is pointing wildly to her dress - which, frankly, Theon couldn’t care less about, given that it’s  _Sansa_ in it - face slightly panicked. In his humble opinion, everything Sansa did was  _too much_  - she was much too bright, much too beautiful, much too kind, much too  _stunning_ … but Theon figures that’s because he’s much too in love with her.

“It’s not too much,” he says about her black dress; it’s tight and a bit short, sure, but Sansa looks happy and confident in it. He puts down the book he’s reading, sticking his phone in between the pages to mark his spot. “You’re doing drinks with your sister and…  _that woman,_ right?”

His joke does its job in distracting her because Sansa grins. “Yes, Arya and  _Margaery_  and I are going to  _Highgarden_. Marg keeps waxing on and on about how much  _fun_  it is, so I finally gave in.” Sansa takes one last glance at the bathroom mirror, doing something with her lips and the red lipstick he plans on thoroughly messing up when she gets back.

Pulling on her heels, some glittery, silver purse under her arm, Sansa gestures to the book in his lap. “Are you just gonna read all night?”

“Might call Yara, catch-up.” Theon leans back on the couch, an ankle resting on the other knee. “It’s been a long week. Need to relax.”

Sansa smiles as she stands taller, sky-high heels on, and walks towards him. If his eyes flicker down to her legs - miles of skin just in front of him - no one can really blame him. Sansa leans forward, giving him a lovely view of her cleavage, before she lifts his chin so their eyes are locked. “Don’t relax too much. I’ll expect to  _help_  when I come back.”

“I absolutely cannot wait. Have fun.” Theon grins when she gives him a quick peck, careful not to ruin her makeup. Theon, however, has no such qualms; before Sansa can move away, he grabs the back of her neck and  _kisses_ her. Heat, passion, his heart in her soul… and then when he separates, her lipstick a little smeared and her eyes fluttering, Theon smirks. “But not too much fun.”

Sansa clears her throat but her tiny glare is not at all scary. In reality, it only makes Theon more determined to wait up for her. She wipes at the corner of his mouth - probably to clean the remnants of her lipstick - before straightening. “I make no promises.”

And Sansa walks out with her head held high, only looking back to wink at him before shutting the door closed.

 _Damn,_ he loves her.


	22. I'm Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: theonsa + "What do you want to watch?” + it's father's day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want, can think of this as a prequel to "Dad"

Sansa leans against the hallway entrance. 

“What do you want to watch?” asks Theon to the boy beside him. Bright blonde hair, green eyes - somehow, he miraculously looks a bit like both Dany and Yara despite the biologically. 

Ben crosses his arms and pouts. Sansa bites back a smile. “I don’t want to watch tv. I want to go  _home_.”

Theon sighs, his eyes flickering to her before scooting closer to his nephew. “Your moms are coming soon… then you can go home. Until then you’re stuck with me.” He shrugs and Ben’s frown slips. “Sorry.”

Ben stays with his arms crossed but his lips aren’t quite pouting anymore. “Do you know any stories?”

Sansa walks further into the room, but skips the living room - where her husband and his nephew sit - for the kitchen. Theon taps his chin, voice purposefully thoughtful. “Hmm, I may know one or two.”

As Theon shares a tale about a pirate and mermaid - that sounds suspiciously familiar - Sansa continues preparing their dinner for the night. She can’t help the smile on her face as Ben giggles when Theon changes his voice for the pirate’s father, or when Ben jumps as Theon acts out the villain’s plan. 

And he had been  _worried_  about spending the afternoon with his new nephew.

All things considered, Ben is well-adjusted for a four year old, having been adopted only a few weeks ago. They had met him the day he came home, but this was the first time he was spending time with his Aunt and Uncle.

 _Aunt_. It never gets old, not for Sansa. And when Ben and Theon burst out into laughter, she suspects Theon feels the same.

After the story, Ben seems brighter, more comfortable. Sansa finds a set of blocks left over from when Robb had visited a month ago and together the three of them build a house. When, eventually, both Dany and Yara come to pick him up, Ben unceremoniously knocks it all over.

“You’re fun, Aunt Sansa,” says Ben hugging her legs. 

Sansa laughs and kisses his hair. “You’re fun too.”

“And Uncle Theon?” Theon raises an eyebrow as he kneels to face his nephew. “Is Aunt Sansa the mermaid?”

Theon grins. “Yep.”

“Does that mean - are you a  _pirate_?”

“Shh,” says Theon, voice lowered even though everyone could still hear him. Dany and Yara exchange amused looks but Sansa feels her chest warm when Theon mock-whispers: “we can’t let anyone know, okay? That’s our secret.”

Ben slaps his hands over his mouth. “Sorry!”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Theon pretends to lock his mouth. “No telling anyone else though.” Ben copies him and Theon grins. “Good man.”

Dany picks him up, Yara nudges her brother, and Sansa locks the door as they leave.

 

(Over dinner:

“You’re good with him.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah. You’re… you’re a natural.”

Theon says nothing, chewing his food. Until… “Sansa?”

She knows what he’ll ask before he says it, but her heart threatens to jump out of her chest anyway. “Theon?”

“I’m ready.”

“You sure?” Theon nods and Sansa grins before slipping into his lap. “I love you.”

His grin matches hers. “I love you too.”

The next day they begin searching for sperm donors.)


	23. Rounded Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I dreamt about you last night.” + theonsa

“I dreamt about you last night.”

Theon frowns, lifting his head up from his laptop, coffee just at his lips. But when he sees the woman standing before him, hands twisted in front of her body and a curious expression on her face, his face clears. “I’m sorry?” he asks instead. The woman is - well, stunning - but also nervous; her eyes remind him of summers at the family beach house.

She shakes her head, as if thoughts cloud her mind and she works to clear them. Her smile, small and hesitant, is nothing less than earth-shattering. “I’m sorry, that must sound crazy.” Pink lips quirk upward, matching her floral dress - cute, but beautiful, because there’s a strength in her shoulders, as if she knows her worth and chooses to be in this moment anyway. Theon blinks when the woman pulls out the chair across from him; this is his table at the coffee shop, by the glass windows towards the back, but not completely out of sight.

The image of her - a woman who has appeared out of nowhere with kindness in her smile and glowing with calm - feels… right.

“I’m Sansa,” she says, offering her hand. Theon slowly places his coffee cup on the table before taking it. It’s not a shake, more of a gentle squeeze. Theon almost expects to feel a spark with the touch of her skin; instead, it’s a slowly building warmth that continues to spread up his arm even when she lets go. “I’m sorry for just - interrupting.”

Theon shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He studies her, nervous but determined. “What do you mean you dreamt about me last night?”

The smile falters. “You - you look familiar.” Sansa bites her lip; his eyes fall to the movement, and he can’t help but imagine running his thumb over that spot. “Like - we haven’t met before, have we?”

Theon forces himself to look her in the eye. It’s not too hard, when he can easily drown in them. “I would remember if had met.” She blushes and Theon finally closes his laptop and pushes his chair closer to the table. “Sansa,” he says, testing the syllables on his tongue. They feel like honey. “No, we haven’t met before.” His eyes narrow, however, because something about the way she moves, solid with rounded edges,  _ does  _ feel familiar. “A dream, huh?”

Sansa giggles, a little, soft chimes in the breeze. “I must have just - I’m sorry - ” she moves to stand, but before he can think about what he’s doing, Theon has his hand on hers. 

“No, stay,” he says. Her presence feels soothing; he can forget about all the work he has to do, about all doubts and anxieties still thrashing around in his brain. She’s calming. “You want some coffee?”

“Oh I already - ”

“Sansa Stark!” The barista pushes forward a cup of coffee that Sansa retrieves. When she returns to her seat, she smiles - fuller and deeper, into her eyes. 

“Stark?” asks Theon, leaning back in his chair, taking a sip of his own drink. “You don’t happen to know a Robb, do you?”

At this, Sansa perks up. “I have an older brother named Robb.”

And that’s when it clicks - the long red hair, the bright blue eyes… but the innocence has morphed into strength and the naivety into kindness. “ _ Sansa _ ?” he says, because now the young girl who used to follow him and his childhood best friend around - obsessed with fairytales and knights and princesses - sits before him, older and mature… but he can still see the thread of  _ Sansa _  that weaves through her, from her hair to her ankles, quietly twisted together. “Wow.”

“Theon  _ Greyjoy _ ,” she says, the smile radiant now. “I never expected my dreams to be able to see the future.”

“How are you?”

She looks down at her coffee, swirling it. “I’m good. Better. Here and surviving.” Her head tilts as she studies him now, recording each twitch and each flicker. “You?”

“Here and surviving,” he echoes. But if surviving means spending a moment with a long lost friend, with a beautiful woman who glows with the essence of vanilla and rose, then he will keep surviving. “Now tell me more about this dream of yours.”

The blush returns and she glows even more. “Oh, you know. An attractive man in a coffee shop - made me laugh…”

Theon grins. “Guess I have a lot to live up to.”

And finally, Sansa laughs from her heart. “You’re off to a fairly good start.”

(They leave the coffee shop many hours later, hand in hand, as if they had always been together in the first place.) 


	24. Sleep With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "presented without context (bc I THINK WE KNOW where i’m going with this): ‘adore,’ by dean lewis"

“Is she asleep?”

Theon yawns before nodding. He can only spare a quick glance at Sansa’s sleeping form - curled up on the edge of the couch, head on his shoulder, a blanket of red hair over his arm. “Yeah,” he whispers. His arm may be numb, his fingers resting lightly on her thigh, but he doesn’t want to move.

“I can take her to - ”

“I got it.” He says it too quickly, because Sansa stirs, but she doesn’t awake. Theon exhales. “Go to sleep, I’ll take care of it.”

Robb spares them one more look before shrugging and heading to bed.

Theon’s own bed is the couch they sit on; he’s crashing at the Starks for the next couple of days until he can finally find his own place. But after a long week, Sansa had passed out beside him during the movie.

For a moment, he watches her sleep. He should probably worry that it’s creepy - since when sleeping, Sansa is much more vulnerable than when awake - but Theon can’t help it. Little puffs of air escape her lips; not quite snores, but there’s a restlessness in her breaths. With her hair spread out wildly like a halo and her skin glowing in the dim lights... Theon takes a moment to be grateful that she’s chosen his shoulder to fall asleep on.

But his arm  _is_  getting numb. “Sansa,” he whispers softly. Sansa stirs again and Theon takes the moment to readjust so she lays across his chest now, his arm now around her waist. Not quite awake, she mumbles something into his shirt. “Hey, you need to move to your room.”

“Warm,” is all she replies with, her head almost in his lap. She smells like vanilla and rose and when she sounds so  _sleepy_ , he can’t help but think she’s absolutely adorable. “Don’t wanna move.”

But Theon knows she’ll regret that decision in the morning - for many reasons - so before Sansa can get too comfortable using him as a pillow, he lifts her slightly and slips out from beneath her. She barely notices, pouting a little, but keeping her eyes closed and stretching out so her head now rests on the side pillow.

Holding back a smile, Theon tries again as he kneels in front of the couch. “You are welcome to stay here but then where will I sleep?”

“Sleep with me.”

The thought conjures images - many,  _many_  images, some very innocent and some very decidedly not. Clearing his throat, Theon shakes his head. “Can’t do that, love. Not tonight.”

Sansa sighs. Her eyes open slowly. “I’m awake now.” Her voice is still a whisper, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. She slowly stretches and stands. “You can have your bed back.”

Theon sinks back onto the couch as Sansa moves away from it. “Sorry for waking you.”

Sansa pauses, just before the door, before turning to face him. There’s still a glint in her eye - but her face is unreadable. “I meant it, you know.” At Theon’s frown, she adds, “you can share my bed.”

The air leaves his lungs. “Oh - Sansa - I - ”

Sansa smiles, understanding and almost with... _adoration_. “Next time.” 

She doesn’t give Theon time to answer, just leaving him sitting on the couch alone and watching the space where she once stood.


	25. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: theonsa + "take mine"

Theon knows Sansa’s cold when she shivers for the second time, hands quickly rubbing along her arms. The sun has long set, but the fireworks still have not started; the rest of the family has spread out on blankets, waiting, but when Robb sneaks off to the restroom, Theon moves closer to her.

“Cold?” he asks. Sansa glances at him but shakes her head. “Where’s your jacket?”

Her knees curl up into her chest. “Don’t know.” Her voice is smaller than usual so Theon doesn’t question it. He gets it - there are good days and there are bad days.

Instead, Theon strips off his jacket and scarf. “Take mine.” Sansa protests at first, but Theon wraps the coat around her shoulders and waits as Sansa reluctantly threads her arms through. “Good.”

When he moves to wrap her neck in the scarf, Sansa shakes her head. “I am not wearing your scarf, Theon. I don’t need it.” Even as she speaks, the breeze picks up, goosebumps along her arm. Theon moves closer and Sansa leans into him. “Theon - ”

He decides to ignore her - somewhat - and places the blue scarf around her shoulders. Looping only once, he leaves it looser than he’d really like - it’s  _cold_ , damn it, and Sansa should be  _warm._

“Gotta protect that pretty neck of yours,” he says without really thinking about it. And when Sansa raises an eyebrow, he winces. “I sound like a vampire.”

She giggles as she adjusts the scarf, tightening it somewhat. “A considerate vampire, at least.” Her smile softens. “Thank you.”

Theon shrugs. “Not a problem.” He kind of wants to offer himself too, as another line of warmth - pull her between his legs, her back to his chest, arms around her, a blanket and a pillow - 

But Robb returns before those thoughts can run too rampant. So Theon keeps his mouth shut as Robb kneels between them, just in time for the fireworks to start.

If anyone notices Theon keeping one eye on Sansa the entire time, they say nothing. 


	26. Cloudy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "baisemain" or a kiss on the hand & I Love You + “Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave“

Sansa is only slightly surprised to find Theon sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back to the wall, facing the toilet. His face is white, hands gripping his bent knees in an effort to prevent them from shaking. Bloodshot eyes, blue lips - Theon is a mess.

Sansa kneels beside him. “How long has it been?” When Theon doesn’t answer, still staring off into nothing, she sighs and leans forward, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Theon. When did you take your last hit?”

He mumbles something and Sansa tries to ignore the frustration mounting. She can’t  _help_  if he won’t  _talk to her_. But she tries to remember that addiction is  _hard_  - it’s hard to escape something that you’ve as a crutch for so long, become dependent on, loved even... 

She should know.

Theon continues to stare off into the distance with blank eyes and shaking hands. Sighing, Sansa stands again. She doesn’t move to leave, not yet, because she wants to maybe offer a glass of water or food or  _something_  - but when she begins to step away, Theon grabs her sleeve.

“Please,” he says. Mumbles, really, a croak resembling a voice, clearly broken from disuse. “Don’t leave.” It’s quieter, his voice, but a bit more steady. His eyes are so blue - still cloudy, but there might be a hint of sunlight peeking through. 

Sansa sinks down to sit beside him. “I’m here, okay?” Without thinking about it, she takes his hand in both of hers. “I love you and I’m here.”

Theon shakes, tears leaking slowly down his cheeks; the hand still on his knee tenses. Sansa takes the one in her hands and kisses the back of palm, his knuckles - one by one, softly, before massaging each finger, the space between his thumb and index. Although his tears don’t stop, they ease, and his head rests on her shoulder now. 

(They sit for a while, Theon shaking and Sansa holding his hand against her chest, before she calls the hospital.

Months later, in rehab, Theon writes her a three page long letter to thank her. It’s not nearly long enough.)


	27. don't lie to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A texting drabble/outtake from your crazy matches mine - Arya suspects Theon and Sansa are sleeping together.

**ARYA:** so how long have you been sleeping with Theon?

**SANSA:** What are you talking about?   
I’m not sleeping with Theon.

**ARYA:** don’t lie to me, i’m your favorite sister!

**SANSA:** You’re my only sister.

**ARYA:** EXACTLY   
look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not sleeping with Theon Greyjoy!

**SANSA:** I’m not sleeping with Theon Greyjoy.

**ARYA:** LIES   
You won’t look me in the eye!

**SANSA:** We’re TEXTING

**ARYA:** 👀

  
  
  


**ARYA:** how long have you been sleeping with my sister?

**THEON:** what are you talking about? i’m not sleeping with Sansa

**ARYA:** aH HA! So you admit you’re sleeping with Sansa!   
i knew it!

**THEON:** i did not admit shit  
i’m sleeping with sansa

**ARYA:** “i’m sleeping with sansa” ah HA!!!

**THEON:** fuck  
that's a TYPO  **  
**don’t you dare screenshot that  
Arya Lyanna Stark  
i’ll tell everyone you’re dating gendry

**ARYA:** do it   
i dare you   
you know i’ll stab you with a butter knife and feel NOTHING

**THEON:** fuck   
  


  
  


**ARYA:** [screenshot]   
sadly you’ve picked an idiot to fall in love with

**SANSA:** We’re not in love, Arya.   
We’re just… well, sleeping together.

**ARYA:** AH HA SO YOU ARE SLEEPING TOGETHER

**SANSA:** But didn’t you just -   
Arya Lyanna Stark!   
I’m both mad and very proud.

**ARYA:** :D   
Okay tell me all the deets   
Like how big is his penis

**SANSA:** I will do no such thing.

**SANSA:** _ typing… _

**SANSA:** But he’s not lacking ;)

 

 

 

**ARYA:** you were right   
no need to be smug about it

**BRAN:** 😏


	28. Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Theon suspects Sansa is a werewolf. Sansa is actually hiding a more mundane secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This veers into mature territory, but nothing explicit.

Theon knows better than to think too much about what’s in the trash. Rooming with a girl - particularly Sansa - has taught him to not ask too many questions and just accept weirdness. 

But after the third time finding a pair of ripped clothing in the trash, Theon starts to question.

The first one is a lacy blouse - the sleeve is hanging off at an awkward angle and Theon doesn’t think too much of it. There’s a hole near the bottom hem, probably from over-use... except Theon’s pretty sure this top is new, Sansa having modelled it for him a week ago. (He remembers this clearly, because it’s practically see through and he caught tantalizing glimpses of her bright blue bra.)

The second one is a month later and is a pair of jean shorts ripped cleanly in half. This one is less ordinary, not through the seam but against it; coupled with Sansa’s larger, ravenous appetite.

A month later, around the same time, Sansa makes a large amount of pasta for dinner. That night he finds a ripped dress in the trash.

It’s a full moon night and maybe he’s been binging too much Teen Wolf, but this is  _weird_. Theon thinks it’s weird.

So he takes the logical course of action.

“Are you a werewolf?”

Sansa reads on the couch in her pyjamas, feet propped up on the coffee table. Lowering her book to her lap, she frowns. “Why do you think I’m a werewolf?”

“It’s a full moon tonight,” says Theon, pointing outside their balcony window.

Sansa bites back a smile. “And yet, here I sit, decidedly not a wolf.”

“But! You eat so much only like... once a month. And there’s ripped clothes in the trash!” When Sansa turns red, avoiding his eyes, Theon steps closer in triumph. “Ha! You are a werewolf!”

“No, Theon,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she’s still tinged pink. “I am not a werewolf.”

Throwing his hands in the air, he huffs in frustration. “Then what is up with all the ripped clothes?” His face softens for a moment, a lick of anger crawling in his stomach. “Is someone hurting you?” The anger rises. “I’m going to  _kill_ \- ”

“I like wild sex!”

And just like that Theon is speechless. He blinks. “What?”

Sansa is bright red, but standing now, arms crossed over her chest. “I like to engage in sex that’s a bit more... you know.”

Oh, Theon knows. He can’t stop  _imagining_  it, not now. “You like wild sex. Where your clothes get ripped.” Sansa still looks to the ground but nods. Something like jealousy may seem into his voice. “And who are you having this wild sex with?”

At that, Sansa glares at him. “That’s none of your business. Just random guys who know my limits and respect them.” Theon feels like he’s been slapped, and it must show on his face, because Sansa winces and steps closer to him. “I didn’t mean - ”

“I’d respect your limits.” Theon doesn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it does, especially with her standing so close now. A part of him is angry - she doesn’t think  _he_ can pleasure her how she wants? - and a part of him is so turned on at the  _idea_. Another part is hesitant because now her hand is on his heart and it’s racing.

And apparently Sansa can tell. “Your heart is racing.” Her eyes are fixed upon her hand, on his chest, especially as it travels lower and his muscle tense. Finally, she looks up at him and Theon gulps. “I know you’d respect me, Theon. That’s the problem.”

The challenge echoes in her voice, sinks into his bones. Without thinking, his hand cradles her neck - gently, mostly, but it’s a heavy presence. Sansa licks her lip and Theon keeps his gaze locked onto hers. Intense, his intentions clear. “What’s your safe word?”

“What - ”

“Safe word,” he repeats, lower, probably a growl. She melts into him, both hands now resting on his chest, her hair tickling his arm. His other hand rests on her hip, his thumb drawing circles on her skin. She doesn’t pull away.

“Red for stop. Yellow for slow down,” she whispers. Her eyes move from his throat up, capturing his. “Are you sure - ”

Theon kisses her, finally, because he’s been  _living with her_  for  _months_  and the temptation is too much and she’s here and she  _wants this_  - and fuck, he’s going to take her if she’ll let him.


	29. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: theonsa + "you can borrow mine" & "relationship reveal, where theon and sansa tell everyone they're engaged, and everyone is shocked, but it turns out they're childhood sweethearts and have literally been dating since sansa was like fifteen"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [truthbealiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthbealiar/pseuds/truthbealiar).
> 
> Happy birthday Grace! I hope you enjoy this and your day and everything because you are so talented and lovely and deserve only the best!

When Theon sinks down to one knee in front of her entire family, Sansa doesn’t know whether to yell at him or cry. “What are you doing?” she asks instead, hands over her mouth in shock and warmth building behind her eyes.

Theon grins, bright and confident and sure, and while she has seen glimpses of this Theon since childhood, it’s the first time in a long time he looks truly _happy_. Sansa’s heart clenches at the sight. “What do you think I’m doing?” he asks instead, one hand slipping into his pocket. Her heart races, pounding loudly in her ears, but when the box snaps open and diamonds glitter in front of her, Sansa falls to her knees too.

“Theon - ” The tears have started now.

“I love you, Sansa Stark.” One hand reaches up for her face, wiping away tears with his thumb. She leans into his touch. “I’ve loved you since the day you found me on the beach with that blackeye - and you didn’t question why or ask me what happened.” His fingers tangle in her hair and she might be clutching his wrist. “I told you I didn’t have a family and you said - ”

“You can borrow mine,” she repeats the words from when she was fifteen, sand in her shoes and heart in her throat. Theon, sitting on the beach looking like he wanted to drown and her, wrapping her arms around him as he cried into her shoulder. It wasn’t the first time she was there for him; he would return the favor over and over again in the years to come. And now, with Theon in front of her, eyes shining and smile soft, Sansa knows she knows it won’t be the last time either.

Theon leans his forehead against hers. Their family is staring at them, shocked most likely, but frankly Sansa doesn’t care. All she cares about in this moment is Theon whispering against her lips: “I didn’t borrow your family. I stole it.”

Sansa laughs, kissing his nose. “You didn’t steal my family, Theon.” She takes his hands, including the one now holding the ring in its palm. Guiding him, she helps him slide the ring onto her finger. “You joined it.” 

Theon grins. “Sansa Stark, will you marry - ”

“Is someone going to explain what the hell is happening right now?”

Sansa rolls her eyes and Theon groans before turning to Robb. “Mate, I love you, but can you wait like thirty seconds here.”

Robb, beside a suspiciously teary-eyed Margaery, has his arms in the air. “No I can’t! Since when have you and Sansa - ”

“Wait, so that time you said no to a date with Gendry’s sister,” interrupts Arya, pointing a hand accusing in Theon’s direction, “it was because you were in love with _my_ sister?”

Theon sighs. “Yes.”

“And when I caught you two at Jon’s bachelor party,” asks Robb, hands running through his hair, making him look more crazed than his already wide eyes, “you were - you weren’t - ”

Blushing, Sansa buries her head in Theon’s shoulder. “Yes,” she mumbles and Theon echoes her. She risks a glance back at her sister. “We thought you all _knew_ and then we just didn’t know how to bring it up…”

“Bran helped with the ring,” says Theon nodding towards the back. The brother in question is reading a book while sitting in the corner, every now and then spinning the wheel on his chair absentmindedly, as if not even paying attention. 

When everyone turns in his direction, Bran looks up. “You didn’t need much help.”

Theon beams. “Thanks mate.”

Robb huffs, throwing his arms in the air. “You asked _Bran_ for help and not _me_ , your very best friend - ”

“I thought I was your best friend,” says Jon, who sits on the floor, completely unphased. He glances back at Sansa. “Congrats, by the way.”

Sansa grins back at him. “Why thank you.”

“Technically,” says Arya, a little more relaxed now - a contrast to the still wildy peeved Robb - as she sinks into the living room couch as they all continue to surround the kneeling couple, “he hasn’t actually _asked_ you yet.”

“Well if this family would just _let me finish_ \- ”

“Didn’t you just say you borrowed us?” If there had been popcorn for this family-gathering-turned-engagement-party, Jon would snack on some, probably. “And you want to marry into this?”

Theon glares. “Don’t think I won’t ask Robb to be best man - ”

“Wait,” says Robb, hands still in the air and hair still tossed, “you _weren’t_ going to ask me - ”

“I think you should actually ask her the question - ”

“I’m _trying_ to but everyone keeps interrupting - ”

“I’m still annoyed I didn’t put this together, I should be _better_ than this - ”

“If it helps, you didn’t have to overhear them flirting because they forgot you were in the room with them - ”

The bickering continues around them, as it usually does, until Sansa nudges Theon. He cuts off his argument with Jon - something about how _his_ wedding will be better than Jon’s, because of course it will be and _yes,_ he is taller because _one inch is one inch_ \- to look at her. There are more insults vibrating around them, because it wouldn’t their family if there weren’t. 

Leaning forward, she whispers low enough for only him to hear. “Ask me.”

Theon exhales and softens, his gaze once again a mosaic of happiness and belonging. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will marry you, Theon Greyjoy. I love you too.”

They kiss, lips and heart and soul, his hands holding her face and hers curled into his hair. And if the Stark family quiets down long enough to cheer for them, she might grin into his lips too.


	30. Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Theonsa + "Pull over. Let me drive."

Sansa debates for thirty minutes before finally: “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”

His hands are shaking, his grip alternating between too tight and too loose, jaw ticking every other minute. When Theon doesn’t respond, she places a hand on his shoulder. “Theon...”

Theon sighs and it’s deep and loud and it’s more resignation than anything else. He pulls the car over to the side of the road; it’s late, so there aren’t very many cars and the nighttime is cut by barely lit street lamps. Taking the keys out of the ignition, Theon pauses, taking deep breaths - in and out, shaking fists, curls of hair falling over his forehead.

Sansa takes his hand - the one wrapped around the keys, probably now digging into his skin - before pushing his hair away from his hair. “Hey. I’m here.” Her hand lingers, caressing his face.

Theon finally looks at her, leaning into her touch, eyes just fluttering between open and close. “Thank you. For - you - I don’t know how I could - ”

Both hands on his face now, Sansa makes sure he’s looking  _at_  her. He needs to see her, not through her. “You being here is thanks enough, okay?” Her thumb lingers right by his lower lip, slightly chapped. “I’m here and I love you.”

He drops the keys into her lap before taking her hands off his face, kissing one palm and then the other, breathing deep, every movement purposefully calming and routine. His eyes are closed again, but her skin tingles with the whispers unspoken. When he finally looks at her again, he leans his head against his seat, both of her hands tangled in his. His eyes say what words cannot.

Smiling, Sansa removes her hands and grabs the keys before opening her door to switch seats. Theon meets her in front of the car - for a second, Sansa moves to slip past him, but he holds her waist, eyes a bit darker now. And when he kisses her, Sansa smiles into his lips. “I love you too,” he whispers, leaving a lingering kiss in her hair before letting her go. 

They slip into their new seats and Sansa drives them home.


	31. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Theonsa + "Can I kiss you?"

“Can I kiss you?”

Sansa looks away from the view - sun just set, dark shadows beginning to grow over the buildings, sparkles of lights flickering - and to Theon. Her hands grip the rail of the balcony tighter. “What?”

Theon glances over at her, mirroring her position, face soft in the dim lighting. The party behind them - Jon’s engagement and Arya’s birthday - rages on, but out here, it’s quiet and peaceful and only them. His hand slides towards hers. “Can I kiss you?” he repeats.

Sansa turns completely to face him. Her hair tumbles across her shoulder when she tilts her head. “Yes,” she says, the smile pulling at her lips trying to be set free.

Theon steps closer, his hand now tangled with hers, but his eyes flicker between her hips, her hair, her lips. Resting a hand on her waist, Theon pulls her closer. His chest is so close, so warm and hard, and Sansa feels the blush rising quickly. His breaths mingle with hers; his fingers trace up her arm, over her shoulder and neck, tangle into her hair. 

Sansa wonders if he’s teasing her on purpose, the anticipation of his lips meeting hers building within her chest. They’re on the balcony in the middle of winter without jackets, but she’s burning. Especially when his thumb traces her lips and his forehead rests on hers. 

It’s almost too much. “Theon - ”

He kisses her with a hardness she almost doesn’t expect from him - it’s passion and fire and awe; he holds her gently, every inch of skin that touches him burning, but with so much care. It’s a contradiction that tangles in her chest, a web of vein and nerves, every particle of her being wanting to expand and contact against his. Her teeth graze his lips and he groans into her mouth, his grip hardening. She’s melting and growing and wrapping herself around him, hand in his hair and fingers in his shirt.

Maybe she cannot breathe, but Sansa finds she doesn’t mind because if she's drowning, she's drowning in him.

Her heart races with every movement of his tongue against hers. He whispers into her lips:  _I can’t believe this is happening, thank you, it’s always been you, Sansa Sansa_ Sansa - 

Theon breaks contact with her lips only to kiss along her cheek and neck and shoulder. Sansa is not quite sure how she’s still standing, somewhat leaning on the railing and mostly leaning on him. He holds her, anchors her, and Sansa nips at the skin of his collarbone.

She feels his smirk against her neck. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” His tongue circles behind her ear.

Moaning, Sansa tightens her arms around him. Maybe she can feel his heart against hers. “I’m glad you decided to stop waiting.”

Laughing, Theon meets her lips for another kiss and Sansa knows when she burns and melts and turns into ashes, he’ll rise again with her.


	32. Unhappy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: theonsa + "cagamosis" (unhappy marriage)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobia and verbal abuse because Balon Greyjoy is a piece of shit (:

Theon had warned her, but Sansa wasn’t fully prepared for how much of a disaster dinner at the Greyjoys would be.

And after the third insult in ten minutes hurled at her boyfriend, Sansa struggles to remain cool. Theon has his arm around her chair, his fingers curled into her hair and that may be the only thing keeping her grounded.

Sansa takes in a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Theon works with children every day - that’s hard work and he does a great job with them.” His hand stills for a moment before sliding to land on her thigh. Sansa rests her hand on his as she takes a drink of water. “I’m proud of him.”

If her voice is sharp, it’s not completely her fault.

To her left, Yara clears her throat. “The fish is really good, mum,” she says across the table, where Alannys sits, hunched over her meal.

“Thank you,” says Theon’s mother, quietly, a quick glance to her husband before her gaze falls back to her daughter. “I’m happy to share the recipe with you.”

Yara scoffs. “Better you give it to Dany,” she says, glancing over to her girlfriend, blonde and beautiful and smiling softly. “She’s the better cook - ”

“At least one of you can pretend to have a cock in the relationship.” Balon throws back a shot of some brown alcoholic beverage that stinks just as much as his breath from across the table.

Sansa catches Yara’s grip tightening on her fork out of the corner of her eye and Dany stiffening. Sansa supposes Yara’s hand drifts below the table, maybe clutching at Dany’s and squeezing in comfort. 

Meanwhile, Sansa isn’t really sure if Theon’s hand on her thigh is to keep her calm or to keep him steady - maybe both. Gritting her teeth, Sansa plasters on a fake smile. “Maybe all of us  _ ladies _ can get together sometime,” she says, pointedly focusing her attention on Alannys.

Alannys smiles, straightening, her gaze stronger. “I would love that.” She sends her gaze towards Yara and Dany. “Maybe all of us could get together - ”

“Are you pregnant?” interrupts Balon. He’s glaring straight at Sansa. “Does my  _ son _ ,” he throws out the word like poison, like it disgusts him and Sansa doesn’t know how much longer she can restrain herself, especially when Theon flinches beside her, “have something on you? There is no way a boy like him could land a gorgeous thing like you - unless you’re as much of a slut as your aunt - ”

“Enough!” Theon’s fists bang onto the table and Sansa can’t even bother to flinch at the sudden noise. Instead, she immediately rests her hand on his shoulder. Exhaling deeply, Theon looks to his mother with a tight jaw and hard eyes. “Thank you for dinner, but we’re leaving now.”

Sansa squeezes his shoulder and takes his hand instead when he stands, taking her with him. She ignores Balon completely and smiles at Yara and Dany. “We should go on a double date sometime.”

Yara doesn’t smile, eyes mirroring her brothers, but Dany sighs and nods. “Definitely.” Her lips curl upward a little, not unkind, but it’s sad and defeated.

Sansa hates it.

Just when they push in their chairs and move to leave, Balon stands too. Sansa feels Theon’s chest against her back, hands still intertwined. She closes her eyes in preparation.

“No son of my mine would just walk away - but you’re weak, always have been. Run away little boy - you’re not - ”

“You don’t deserve him.” Sansa snaps, spinning to face the man - not Theon’s father, he doesn’t deserve that title - hands quickly resting on Theon’s chest as his arms come around her. She peaks over his shoulder, glaring, anger seared into her veins. “Theon is more of a man you’ll ever being - he is a loving, kind human being and has been through more shit than you can even imagine - he is  _ strong _ and incredible and you’re a piece of shit.”

Sansa doesn’t wait for Balon’s reaction. Instead, she storms out of the house, breathing heavily. She thinks Theon says something, does something - but he quickly follows her out to the front door.

Before either of them can speak, Alannys slips out the door. “Theon,” she says softly. Her gaze rests on her, though. “Sansa - I can’t apologize enough - ”

Sansa shakes her head. “No need.” Biting her lip, she debates saying anything further. Eventually… “I’m sorry if I made things worse.” The red tinge is fading, but her heart still races in her chest.

Alannys tilts her head. It’s not a smile that fits on her lips, but something mixed with resignation and admiration. “You didn’t.” She looks to Theon, and there’s no mistaking the love there. “She’s special, Theon.”

Theon looks at her. No smile, completely serious, the sun and stars in his eyes. “I know.”

“Don’t end up like me,” says Alannys and finally the sadness fully captures her face. Theon moves towards her but she shakes her head, forcing a smile. “I’ll come to visit you soon. Be happy.”

Alannys steps forward, silently placing a hand to Theon’s cheek before studying her too. She squeezes Sansa’s free hand and leaves them there without another word.

Theon turns to her, gathering her in his arms as they move closer to their car in the driveway.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “I knew this was a terrible idea - ”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” says Sansa, watching his breaths as her heart calms down. “Your - that  _ man _ \- ” she shakes her head, shakes away the anger rising again. Her eyes capture his - he’s sad, resigned, and Sansa holds his face. “You know you’re none of that, right? You’re Theon Greyjoy and I love you.”

His forehead rests on hers and a small smile curls on his lips. “I love you too.” The smile fades though. “What if - ”

Sansa kisses him silent. “You are nothing like him.” Her whispers coast over his lips and she wants to crawl under his skin and never let go. “You don’t treat me like he treats your mum; you’d never think less of your sister for who she loves.” Theon searches her eyes and Sansa kisses him again, lightly. “You are nothing like him and you make me  _ happy _ . Our marriage will be happy.”

The glint returns to Theon’s eyes and Sansa wants to capture it forever. “We’re going to get married?”

Sansa grins. “Eventually, yes. I’m not letting you go.” 

His arms tighten around her, his lips lingering at her temple and she can feel his smirk. “That’s my line.”

Sansa sighs into his embrace and Theon squeezes her tighter. 


	33. Blue Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Strikhedonia (the pleasure of saying "to hell with it")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Annie who not only gave me the original prompt, but also inspired the whole rest of this.

Somewhere along the way - between being that extra boy that showed up at dinner, to another older person who gave her advice and looked out for her, to giving the best hugs during the holidays - Sansa realized that Theon was  _attractive._

And for a while, it was a problem.

But one day Sansa artfully maneuvered him beneath the mistletoe, Theon kissed her, and Theon being attractive was no longer a  _problem_. It was just… annoying and inconvenient at times.

Like now, when Sansa sat in her booth while Theon stood at the bar ordering drinks. The lights highlighted the dirty-tones of his hair and as usual, his seafoam eyes glittered with silent laughter. Sansa always loved his laugh, a release of emotion and tension and joy, but in that moment, as he stood in jeans and a baggy t-shirt, leaning against the counter, Sansa wanted to run her fingers through his hair and wrap her legs around his waist. The veins in his forearm ran like a road map down his skin and Sansa wanted to lick every inch.

Sansa understood that Theon wasn’t everyone’s tastes - but she understood him in a different way, because she’d seen him stripped bare, as blood and ash and bone, his heart broken and his soul shattered. She was so proud of him and she loved him so much, and it still surprised her that this man in front of her was her  _Theon._

Leaning back in the booth, Sansa continued to admire her boyfriend from afar. He ordered their drinks and waited, not initiating conversation with the bartender, but when they asked him a question, he responded with a friendly smile. Sansa mirrored it.

But the smile fell when a tall woman - brunette and gorgeous and in gladiator sandals at a bar, a power move - slipped into the stool beside Theon, her legs already in his space, twirled around his like vines despite the space technically between them. 

Theon blinked at her. Sansa couldn’t hear them, but the friendly smile remained on his face. The brunette moved as if she was laughing - giggling, more like, curling hair around her fingers. She was blatantly flirting and if Sansa wasn’t too busy checking Theon for signs he was uncomfortable - stiff back, worrying fingers, eyes flickering over to her - maybe Sansa might have been jealous.

But Theon was fine - friendly, purposefully moving backwards to put more space between them. So Sansa turned her attention to the woman, who moved her chair closer to Theon instead, along with resting a hand on his arm. Theon glanced at it and moved his arm toward the bar, forcing the woman to reposition her hand.

Sansa grinned.

She couldn’t blame the other woman - Theon was hot, especially that night in a plain white t-shirt and dark jeans and his hair styled in messy curls. Actually, this was his go-to outfit: Theon was just always hot. And Sansa appreciated it.

But so did the other woman, apparently, because she stood, practically inches from _her boyfriend_ , her eyes admiring more than just the soft cotton of his shirt when her hand landed on his chest.

_To hell with this._

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Sansa when she walked - maybe stalked - over. The woman immediately moved back, giving Theon space and allowing Sansa to squeeze tight beside him. Theon, perhaps without thought, wrapped an arm around Sansa. He may have given her a certain knowing  _look_  too, but Sansa ignored him to address his companion. “My boyfriend and I were just leaving.”

“We were?” He sounded amused, especially when the bartender placed two drinks in front of him. Sansa finally looked at him. Indeed, his eyes were twinkling. “I thought - ”

“I went shopping with Margaery today,” interrupted Sansa. Her eyes did not break from his, willing him to understand her  _real_  meaning. “Bought some things I’d love to show you.”

When Theon’s eyebrows rose, his mouth opening just a little, Sansa knew he understood. Turning back to the brunette, she smiled widely. “Sorry - I know he’s hot, thank you for noticing, but we’re going to head back to my place now.” Sansa pushed the drinks towards her. “Here.”

To her credit, the brunette only shrugged and thanked them for the free drinks before disappearing, 

“I’m hot, huh?” Theon whispered into her ear, the sound of smirk both irritating and frustratingly hot.

Sansa sent him a glare. “We’re dating.”

Theon kept smirking. “Exactly.” He nipped at her ear, practically licking the skin behind her ear. “So what did you buy that you’d like to show me?”

Sansa let her fingers sneak under his shirt, draw little figures at his hip bone. With a grin of her own, she turned to kiss him. “Your favorite color and your favorite material.”

Theon groaned, a graze of his teeth along her bottom lip. “Blue lace?” He groaned again when Sansa licked at his lip in retaliation. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“That’s what I’ve been  _saying_.”

Theon threw some cash at the bar, Sansa squeezed his hand, and they somehow escaped with all their clothes still on.

(But only just barely.)


	34. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "canonverse kiss prompt: theon presses a kiss to sansa's forehead for the very first time. probably subtly, but she knows. that's it, that's the prompt." <3

An observer may say that Theon paces while he waits for Sansa’s - the Queen’s party to return from their journey to the capital. Theon believes he is merely taking a stroll in anticipation.

But when the guards notify him that the party has arrived and is near the castle walls… Theon does not hesitate to wait in the yards, determined to be one of the first people to greet them.

To greet  _her._

Indeed, when Sansa breaks free from the party once the gate is lifted, her red hair flying behind her and her horse galloping straight for him, Theon finds himself frozen at the sight.

Sansa climbs off her horse. Her face brightens when she sees him and his heart feels like it’s the sun too. “Lord Greyjoy,” she greets him.

Theon lowers himself to one knee. “Your Grace. Queen Sansa.” If he grins, perhaps teasingly, he truly doesn’t mean to. His face grows serious when she stops right before him, gazing down with a soft expression he can’t quite read. It just reminds him of ocean breeze and salt water falling over his skin. “Welcome home.”

Sansa watches him as he rises. “Thank you for taking care of Winterfell, Theon.” There’s a pause, where her eyes flicker between the crevices of his face, studying them, considering. But then she moves closer. A heartbeat, another pause; Theon hesitates, wondering  _why_  -

But then Sansa embraces him, arms thrown around his shoulders, hands curling into his hair. Sighing, he sinks into her - breathes her in, of snow and ice and roses, the ends of her hair tickling his palms. Her face burrows further into the space between his shoulder and neck and Theon tightens his grip around her. 

It’s so easy to press his lips lightly against her hair, just above her temple. It’s not a kiss, not really, especially if asked; Theon just hugs his Queen, happy for her safe return, and if his lips happen to rest lightly against the top of her head…

Pulling back, Sansa watches him, not quite letting go of his arms. A smile grows on her lips, soft and knowing, and Theon swallows. His mouth opens, to protest and defend himself, maybe even deflect, but Sansa shakes her head.

She just pulls him closer again instead, muttering something into his shoulder that he can’t really hear but sounds suspiciously like  _fool._

Theon only smiles into her hair this time, he swears; he does not leave another whisper of a kiss across her forehead. And Sansa doesn’t smile knowingly at him either.


	35. Riding Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [THIS TWEET](https://twitter.com/alfiesgreyjoy/status/1153453201917644801?s=20) and I like to consider this [post-THIS FIC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274491/chapters/45839782) so shout-outs to Abbey and Rachel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty! Explicit! Fingering on a horse!

Even before they had left, Sansa suspected Theon was up to something. He had chosen a slower horse than usual for the hunt, and while Sansa did not usually attend these things, she knew this particular horse was older and slower and not of Theon’s usual taste.

But Sansa said nothing. Theon’s hands guided her, little affectionate touches to her lower back and arm and neck, but those were nothing unusual. Theon was always tender, always seeking her out - and Sansa understood. After believing him dead, it was a nice reminder that he was, in fact, alive and well and her _husband_. But when Sansa settled in on the saddle, back to Theon’s chest and his arms wrapping around her, his hand lightly stroked above her breeches. Theon was always amorous, but not usually so brazen about it.

Sansa shifted on the horse, but did not complain too much. Not when Theon left a lingering kiss on the side of her neck when no one was watching.

The party set out and Theon guided their horse at fairly slow pace towards the back of the group. Sansa frowned, wondering why Theon wished to remain in the back, but he just shrugged with a sly smile. “I want to enjoy the ride with my wife,” he had said, almost innocently.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, but turned back around, leaning more firmly into his chest. Theon kissed her hair.

The distance between them and the rest slowly deepened as their horse galloped slower than the rest; and Theon’s hands continued to wander. Beneath her blouse his hand travelled, his thumb drawing circles on her side, her stomach. When a finger slipped _into_ her breeches, Sansa stiffened. “Theon!” she hissed.

“No one can see,” he whispered hotly in her ear. Maybe his tongue swirled there too. His finger dipped beneath her hood and Sansa felt her cheeks turn to fire. And perhaps, her skin too. “Let me love you, my love.”

Sansa quickly scanned their surroundings - the rest of the party was barely a blur before them, clearly not concerned for their slower pace. The trees left them fairly hidden, especially with Theon’s cloak slipping from his shoulders and practically draped across her lap. His finger stiffened when she didn’t answer, almost as if he was ready to withdraw, but her hand tightened against his wrist.

“ _Please_.”

Theon relaxed, his hand slipping lower, and she felt his grin into her shoulder. The bite of his teeth was softened by the fabric of her blouse, his nails lightly graze against her clit. When Sansa almost bucked off the horse, Theon laughed. “Steady, love.”

Sansa moaned in response.

Theon’s kisses grew wetter against her skin, but it was his fingers and their determination that drew her wetness. The longest one dipped lower, almost into her cunt, and covered with her wetness drew higher again to circle her clit. 

A gentle circle, followed by a faster one - a flick, a dip for more before returning - circling and circling and Sansa did not know what was happening around her, her focus solely on Theon’s chest and arms holding her steady, his lips breathing warmly against her neck, and his fingers coaxing her, loving her…

“Come for me, my love, but stay silent - we don’t want your Father to hear how much you love me.” Sansa swallowed her moan, another stuck in her throat, as it traveled down her spine… only to spill from her center in flood and flame - especially as she grinded down on his hand, clit throbbing and quim pulsing and body shaking as the might of her explosion shatters her.

Sansa squirmed before Theon gently withdrew, but not before leaving a gentle tap against her still-sensitive clit. Her groan was louder, perhaps too loud, and Theon left another minor bite against her shoulder. “Shh, you’ll get us caught!”

Straightening, Sansa she elbowed him in the stomach. “And it will be your head cut off, not mine.” The afterglow had not yet faded, so her insult was scarcely biting. Theon kissed her hair once more. “Foolish husband.”

“ _Your_ foolish husband.”

Sansa grinned, patting their horse on the head. Perhaps a good choice after all.

 

 

 

When they finally catch up to the rest of the party, Ned frowned at them. “Is something the matter?”

Sansa hoped Theon valued his life enough to keep his facial expression contained. She smiled innocently. “Just a slow horse, Father.”

Behind her, Theon nodded. “We took the opportunity to enjoy the scenery,” he said, and maybe only she noticed the slight hint of smugness in his tone. “The company was most pleasing, of course. Are you pleased, dearest?” 

This he aimed at her, and Sansa only narrowed her eyes just slightly. “Very pleased,” she responded, and if her backside grinded against his cock then no one was the wiser. “I enjoy riding.”

“Horses.” 

Sansa and Theon face her father. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Ned continued to frown; or perhaps he was just confused. Sansa could never quite tell with her father. “You enjoy riding horses,” he repeated and Sansa willed herself to not blush.

“Yes. I enjoy riding _horses_.”

The frown quickly faded into a smile before Ned galloped off; behind her, Theon shook with what Sansa suspected was silent laughter.

“I do not like you,” she said, lifting a leg around so she sat sideways. This allowed her to lean her shoulder firmly into Theon’s chest. In response, Theon kissed her neck. His smirk was louder than his words. 

“I love you too.”


	36. Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: canonverse "sansa or theon dream of being kissed by the other, and are left pondering it for days after waking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> krakens gc <3

“Theon?”

He looks up at his name, finger frozen over his place in his book. Hunched over the table, he takes the moment to slowly roll his shoulders, never looking away at the woman in front of him.

Tilting his head sideways, he smiles. “Yes, your Grace?”

Sansa doesn’t bother to correct him, for once; which, along with her chewing her bottom lip and the way she fidgets, despite the book in her own lap, signals her anxiety. Combined with the stolen glances she has been sending him for the past several minutes, and Theon wonders what has Sansa so unsettled.

To her credit, Sansa keeps her voice calm. “How does it feel to make love?”

“What?” Theon croaks. He thinks he’s heard her, but he can’t quite be sure because it  _sounds_ like - 

“How does it feel,” she repeats, this time with a straighter back and her hands now lying on top of her book, “to make love?” Theon blinks, still processing her words, when she continues. “I - I have - you know - ” Her voice falters and without thinking, Theon reaches across the table to place his hand on hers. “But I’ve never - not with someone who - ”

“Sansa - ”

“Theon,” she repeats, more forcefully, a hint of  _Queen_  slipping in to her voice. “Please.”

Theon waits a beat, for the question to vibrate through his brain and his chest... for Sansa to back out, correct him, change her mind... but her gaze never leaves his. So he sighs and stands, shutting his book with a solid thunk. As he moves around the table to be closer to her, he feels her eyes studying him - he hope she isn’t worried, but she doesn’t appear fearful. Just cautious, curious.

Theon kneels in front of her. His joints ache, but for Sansa he bares the soreness. If he just reaches out, his hands could rest on her knees. “May I ask why the sudden interest?”

When Sansa blushes, Theon can’t help but note how  _pretty_  she looks. She’s always pretty - beautiful, gorgeous, regal - but with the way she refuses to avoid his eyes, despite the pink capturing her face and her neck... it’s mesmerizing. Especially when her hands land on his shoulders, her fingers toying with the ends of his hair.

“I had a dream,” she says, softly, but still without fear. It’s her way of telling him -  _this is for you and only you._ Theon is both honored and terrified of being worthy of her trust. “Of me - and you and...”

This time, when his hands do reach out to balance on her knees, it’s more to keep himself steady. But Sansa also tugs a little on his hair. “Oh,” he says. He can’t quite meet her gaze - it’s not as if  _he_  hasn’t had similar dreams about  _her_... but to have it returned?

There’s a tug on his heart, contracting its fist, the blood pounding harder as the thoughts swirl faster, and if his lungs stop working for a moment and if his veins feel like rivers of lava and if his limbs are shaking...

His chin is lifted. Sansa catches his eye and does not let it go. “Theon. Will you show me?” Her voice is more than a caress; it’s an embrace and a tether and the kiss they both seek all in one. Theon only leans forward when Sansa’s eyes flutter shut.

She meets him in the middle with her lips. 

His heart relaxes and his hands hold hers and even if his knees hurt from kneeling before her chair, Theon does not stop until she pulls him up and drags him to her chambers.


	37. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt(s): "Theonsa beach prompt: Sometimes they just haven't had a good day or don't feel like speaking in general, so they sit side by side and communicate through little drawings they do with their hands or feet on the sand. They make sure they erase every trace of every drawing when they go home so it remains an intimate little part of their lives, although sometimes they'll take pictures of their collab masterpieces with their phones and save them in a well-hidden gallery folder" 
> 
> & "a fic where Theon teaches Sansa to swim"

When Robb is in high school and put in charge of babysitting, he drags them all to the beach one summer.

Unsurprisingly, Theon is there.

And every day, Robb would take them to the beach. And every day, Theon would be there.

Eventually, it was an inevitable association - the beach and the sea and sand and... Theon.

 

 

 

One summer Sansa almost drowns.

Literally.

When Theon Greyjoy pulls her out of the ocean, hands anchored to her sides and chest plastered against her back, Sansa gasps deep breathes and mostly feels relief.

Sansa thanks him, out of breath, and admits she can’t swim.

Theon laughs. “Then why are you out in the water?” When she doesn’t answer, blushing too hard and words still hard to form, he shrugs instead. The smirk on his face - too sharp and too sweet, almost like the sugary frosting Rickon insisted covers his birthday cake - almost matches his wink. “Too bad you didn’t need CPR.”

Sansa shoves him away from her and stalks off the beach, sand stuck between her toes and damp hair falling on her face. She’s sixteen and better than him and she doesn’t need  _this_.

Theon’s laughter echoes in her ears for a while.

 

 

 

Several summers later, Sansa drowns figuratively.

And it’s when she curls her knees into her chest, digging her toes into the sand so she can feel  _something_  - like the rough edges of the shells digging against her skin - and sighs that she finally speaks.

“Can you teach me to swim?”

Theon looks at her, probably, mirroring her position - knees to chest, arms wrapped around his legs. Covered in a wetsuit and unruly hair, he tilts his head to the side; a curl of hair still sticks to his forehead.

But he doesn’t ask any questions. “Sure,” he says, instead, standing and offering her a hand to hold.

She takes it.

It’s hard at first to let him touch her. To help her float, or position her arms or legs as she learns the proper form. But despite holding back flinches and wincing at Theon’s deeper frowns, Sansa learns to swim.

She learns control.

And Theon cracks a joke about punching the water like a knife through  _His_  face and Sansa can’t help but smile back.

 

 

 

The summer Theon isn’t there is the worst.

It’s like a hurricane; a storm of wind and sea, but the only sign is the destruction left behind. The broken buildings and chipped wood and silence of nature. Hidden, cold, broken.

Theon returns the next summer and Sansa understands. There aren’t smirks anymore, but he still stares off into the water, as if the ripples are the syllables to his words. And maybe they are, because he rarely speaks. But Sansa sits with him and one day, Theon thanks her.

“What for?” she asks.

Theon shrugs.

But Sansa understands.

He draws spirals in the sand. They’re jagged and rough and raw and sometimes Sansa tries to image the sun in them. Theon, like he was, when he would smirk and laugh and tease...

But his hand shakes and Sansa clears the sand and writes simple words instead.

(Now, when they enter the water, they go together. He still holds her hand when they swim, but this time it feels like she’s guiding him.)

 

 

 

A summer later and Theon is still quiet and Sansa is still stiff, but somehow his hand feels light against her lower back and his chest feels warm against her shoulder and Theon remembers to bring a blanket nowadays.

She kisses him under the stars with the ocean roaring in their ears.

They later dive into the water, nude, and when Theon lets her trace his scars with a shaky finger, she understands why he loves the water so much.

(They make love on the beach and even if she finds sand in unmentionable places for weeks later, it’s still with a smile on her face.)

 

 

 

And every summer, they still draw pictures in the sand, sometimes funny and sometimes sad, but every evening Sansa wipes it clean.

A fresh start.

Sometimes his hand hovers over hers and together they draw a house on the beach, with water encasing their home, tiny children laughing in the sunlight.

Sometimes he draws her a diamond ring. And one time she writes  _yes_.

 

 

 

They marry on the beach, under the setting sun and fairy lights, one boring, ordinary summer. Theon wears flip flops and an unbuttoned shirt and Sansa walks to him in white cotton and barefoot.

Theon whispers his vows like the droplets of water into her hair and later, after they kiss and everyone cheers and they dance to music no one else can hear, she leads him to the ocean and kisses him in the water and somehow, even this feels inevitable.

The beach and the sea and the sand.

And Theon.

**Author's Note:**

> @ripsaras on twitter and @leopoldfitz on tumblr


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